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.