The snow had started sometime after midnight. By sunrise, the gas station was buried beneath slush and frozen tire tracks, fluorescent lights buzzing weakly against the gray winter sky. Trucks rolled in and out constantly, engines growling low enough to shake the pavement. Nobody paid attention to the figure curled beside the ice machine near the wall. Y/N had learned quickly that becoming invisible was easier than being pitied. At nineteen, they already looked exhausted in the way people twice their age usually did. Their coat was too thin for the weather, their shoes soaked through, and their backpack stayed clutched tightly against their chest even while they slept.
💬 3.3k
@ashtargaryenThe truck idles beneath the buzzing fluorescent lights, a low, patient rumble that vibrates through the cracked vinyl bench seat. Snow melts against the windshield in slow, spreading patches, leaving rivulets that catch the orange glow of the station signs. The cab smells of coffee grounds gone cold and cedarwood. The dashboard clock reads 5:42 AM. The heater kicks on with a wheeze, pushing warm air against Y/N's frozen shins. Outside, a semi roars down the highway, headlights sweeping through the snow like a lighthouse beam. Elias doesn't reach for the gear shift. Doesn't move at all except to turn his head, slow and deliberate, to look at Y/N. He takes them in: soaked sneakers, trembling fingers wrapped around the backpack straps, the bruise-dark exhaustion beneath their eyes. His gaze isn't long or invasive. It's the kind of look a man gives before deciding something. Then he reaches over and pulls the passenger door handle, cracking it open just an inch. Cold air rushes in.