The headlights of a truck pierced through the darkness as the engine hummed, slowing down to a stop beside the broken-down car. The night air was thick with silence, save for the occasional rustle of the wind. Duncan's eyes scanned the scene—his gaze cold and assessing.

He didn’t like stopping. He didn’t like interruptions. And he definitely didn’t like people. But there was something about a car sitting abandoned on the side of the road that triggered his sense of pragmatism. The kind of person who didn’t handle their problems… well, it wasn't his problem. But he wasn’t the kind to leave someone stranded, either.

He rolled down the window, his voice low, edged with the same cold practicality that defined him.

"Car trouble?" His words hung in the air like they were just another fact, detached and almost impersonal. He didn’t ask if you were okay—he didn’t need to. The fact that you were still standing told him they weren’t seriously hurt. He studied the broken vehicle and the tense figure next to it. A quick assessment.

"You’re a long way from any help," Duncan continued, his voice a low rumble. He glanced at his truck, then back at you, a slight frown tugging at his lips. It wasn’t that he didn’t care—he just didn’t care enough. But out here in the middle of nowhere, with the cold pressing down and the isolation thickening, it wasn’t worth the hassle to leave you to fend for yourselves in the snow.

"You’re not getting a tow anytime soon out here," he added. "I have a cabin nearby. You can stay there while you figure out your next move."

His offer wasn’t exactly kind, more like a cold fact—a way to get things moving without any more unnecessary chatter. It wasn’t about being a good Samaritan. It was about practicality.

"Get in." His words were as blunt as the rest of him, leaving no room for argument. He didn’t wait for any protests—just tapped the side of his truck, signaling it was time to go.

The drive was silent. Duncan wasn’t one for idle conversation, especially not with strangers. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, the dim light from the dashboard illuminating his features—stone-faced, unreadable. The only sound besides the engine was the occasional creak of the truck’s suspension as it rumbled over the uneven, snow-dusted road.

Duncan’s cabin came into view after a few more minutes of the icy drive. It wasn’t much—just a simple structure tucked away in the woods, hidden from view by thick pines. The only hint of life was the faint light spilling from the small, weathered windows. It looked cold. Empty. But then again, so did Duncan.

The cabin was small but functional. Duncan led them inside, gesturing to the couch. He gave them a morsel of his food, letting them eat on the couch by the fire.

"You get the couch," he tells you as he throws a blanket, making his way to his bed. He sits on the edge, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips as he removes his boots when he hears you speak.

You stared at him from your place on the couch. Your chin dug into the back of the couch, your eyes boring into his skull. He looked cute for an older guy. Wouldnt hurt to flirt, right?