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All because he was a nobody. Jun didn’t disagree. He didn’t have anything else to contribute. “So if I mess this up, am I no longer a nobody?” The paper in his hand was becoming damp with his sweat.

“Follow my lead, and you won’t have that problem.” Hal tapped on the hood of the Civic before heading back. “Aight, Imma head out. Lock up in an hour?”

“Yes.” Jun always did every night. There was no reason for Hal to remind him.

“Sounds good. Thanks for fixing up my last-minute fender bender.” Hal headed back to the gas mart with a backhand wave. “G’night!”

After Hal shut the door behind him, Jun was alone with the car and his thoughts. The small black analog clock on the far corner of the workbench read 8:59 p.m.

He unfurled his hand to reveal the crumpled invitation. It was so creased that the ink had smeared from the heat of his palm. He threw it in the trash under the workbench before he could waste his whole night rereading every word.

He had no other choice but to finish his last duties of the night. He went to the Civic’s driver’s seat and turned on the ignition to check the dashboard settings. As expected, everything passed the inspection.

When he first started out, Hal stared him down on every single car part he worked on. Now, Hal passed the torch to Jun to handle all vehicles, even his own Civic. Hal always mentioned how impressive it was that he learned how to fix cars in a month. But what he didn’t know: There was only so much to learn when Jun had nothing better to do. He shut off the ignition and went out to the front of the store.

The station was still technically open, though people rarely came by this late. Even Matt had gone home early. Jun went to the refrigerator and scooped up a packet of hard-boiled eggs and tofu.

He made his usual dinner on Matt’s tiny custom-made grill on the back counter: scrambled tofu and eggs. He had made almost every different variation of the dish—grilled, pan-fried, stir-fried, boiled, burnt. If he was feeling extra fancy, he would add some soy sauce, especially if he was having a bad day. He should thank Hal for always having tofu. Maybe one day.

The fan creaked in time with Hal’s playlist. It fit better with old-school rap than with bubblegum pop music, like the kind from the girl group Sugars.

Jun sat by the counter, slowly chewing the soft, crumbly, bland mush melting in his mouth. He could have added more flavor, but tonight, and as most nights, he only had enough energy to keep his stomach from gnawing him out.

After finishing his food and ringing up an elderly couple as his only customer, he locked up.

Shutting off the lights, he headed back to the garage. Jun grabbed the cleanest towel, stripped off his clothes, and left it on the shelf. He aimed the nozzle at himself and braced. The blast hit his face first. Ice cold. It sheeted down his body, and he stood rigid until the numbness faded into warmth. Oil and dirt ran down his thin ankles and disappeared into the floor drain.

After drying off, he borrowed Hal’s oversized hoodie that reached his mid-thigh and his old, checkered sweatpants. He strolled over to the Civic’s driver’s seat, pants dragging, and made himself comfortable by reclining the seat. He stared at the car’s gray sunroof, tracing the seams of the skylight above him. Something pressed on his chest. He closed his eyes. The dark took him before he was ready.

A robe trailed across the floor. A white shirt billowed in the wind. Ruki stood, silhouetted against the sun, palms raised, as if accepting its offering…

Jun jolted awake. Gasping. Heart hammering. He blinked hard against the tears, sucked air through his nose, forced it out through his mouth. Again. Again. Until the rhythm slowed. He dropped his forehead to the steering wheel and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

It’s been a week since he’d slept through the night. He couldn’t stay here—not with the silence, not with the dream still clinging to him. He turned the ignition and pulled out of the garage before the images could settle back in.

The engine hummed beneath him. The road opened up, and the noise in his head quieted just enough. The jazz on the radio was busy enough to keep his mind occupied—complex chord changes he could follow instead of think. It wasn’t as intricate as his mother’s playing, but it was good enough.

He focused on the empty dark roads. Following the signs that led him to the 101, Jun merged with the other speeding cars on the freeway. Even though the hours got dark sooner, there were still a lot of cars out during this time of the night. Streetlights strobed through the windshield, light and shadow trading across his vision. He kept his speed steady at seventy and onto the 134. The Valley slowly disappeared in his rearview mirrors.

Since he started staying at Hal’s garage, Jun had left the San Fernando Valley when he could. Before then, it was Ruki who dragged him to countless destinations. Just from taking this route.

He followed the signs until he reached the 2. Streetlights no longer flooded the roads. Only the looming mountains cast shadows beyond the headlights, into the deeper dark. Several modded cars zoomed past him towards a narrow exit, heading even deeper into the mountains.

The hum of the speeding cars brought Jun back to when Ruki took him on a joyride. They had stopped on the shoulder of the main freeway, laughing from the shock and thrill that they committed a crime. It was rare to see Ruki’s reddened face, beaming with a wide smile, while he held his stomach, bellowing in laughter.

But in the dark, a tear slipped free. Dumb teenagers making a dumb decision. That’s what it should have been. That may have been one of the last times he saw Ruki truly happy.

He blinked the tears away when he realized the 2 reached the 210.

The shadows of the mountains jutted out of the darkness, and the small cities’ light pollution cast a soft glow. Small bright dots of the Valley came into view, like tiny stars. The first time he saw this view was after Ruki drove them home from a fancy hot pot restaurant in Arcadia. He had apologized to Jun for taking him out on such a far and late drive. But Jun told him he didn’t mind and would love to do it again. A simple memory with a simple conversation. An experience Jun was particularly fond of.

As he reached the exit towards the 118, the twinkling lights multiplied as Jun got closer to civilization. Those lights contained memories, like stars reflecting their past selves. Whether it was passing through a neighborhood or meeting up with their friends at the usual spots, every light had been a place they had gone to.

The lights came closer when the freeway guided him to the exit and onto the main street. Hallowed Gas’s bright red sign glowed in the corner of Jun’s eye. His already heavy heart sank further when the realization of being back in Sunshine Hills also meant the night was getting closer to the end. He tried to ignore the feeling and drove past the gas station towards the main street.

This main street had changed over time with new establishments, cycling through the same buildings. The nostalgic memories crawled back to Jun here and there, as if chasing that mix of familiarity and foreignness.

Almost every day after school, Jun’s stomach fluttered with anticipation for the bell to ring. He’d run out to meet Ruki and go to his house. As soon as they got in the car, Ruki would ask what he wanted to do when they finished their homework. Video games or reading. Sometimes they wouldn’t even get to the decision because they talked about anything and everything as the world slid past them.