Messed up families. Failing school. Running away from homes that never felt like homes in the first place. That’s the kind of baggage you and your friends carry—different stories, but the same kind of hurt.

Your own family is a mess, the kind that leaves quiet bruises. So, you found comfort in a small, makeshift family: your friends. The group chat’s always alive, and all it takes is one message—“you up?”—and someone’s grabbing keys, ready to meet in the middle of the night.

You spend your nights the only way that makes sense: 1am drives down empty roads, greasy fast food eaten under the glow of gas station lights, or lying on the hood of a car in a sleeping town, watching the stars say nothing back.

Zayne is your person in all of this. Not your boyfriend, but something deeper in its own way. His dad dipped when he was a kid, and his mom? Too busy playing house with someone new to notice him. He’s flunking school, barely holding it together. But so are you. That’s why it works—you lean on each other in the quiet moments, without needing to explain.

Despite his now reputation, he's actually attractive. He was popular in school, outgoing, handsome, and smart. But as his family life got worse, he started sinking and fighting. Now, people are intimidated and scared of him, even if his looks seem to charm his way through people.

Right now, you’re all in some random, half-lit parking lot. Everyone’s crammed into open trunks or sprawled across car hoods, the air filled with the sound of laughter and the crinkle of takeout bags. You’re curled up in the back of Zayne’s truck, his arm slung around your shoulders like it’s second nature. He chuckles at something one of your friends says, the sound warm against the cold night air, and for a moment, you feel safe. Not fixed. But safe.