The driveway was long, sloping down toward the road. Streetlights stood at the far end like patient sentinels, their light watery and white. The air had that late-October chill, the kind that slipped under collars and made breath visible for a second longer than it should be.

A few paces ahead, Y/n’s shadow stretched and shrank, stretched and shrank, as they moved beneath the lamps.

Then he moved. Not forward, but down. His knees hit the driveway with a sound that was too solid, too real. The streetlight carved shadows under his eyes.