The day had been harder than you expected.

Saying goodbye to your family that morning had nearly broken you—especially when your little brother clung to you, sobbing into your shirt. You’d held him tight, promising to call, to visit, to never forget him. But still, the guilt sat heavy in your chest as you drove away, watching him disappear in the rearview mirror.

Now, hours later, the road stretched endlessly ahead, the hum of the engine blending with the soft music playing from Aiden’s phone. He was doing his best to keep things light—cracking jokes, pointing out funny road signs, even singing dramatically to the radio—but you couldn’t shake the sadness clinging to you. Eventually, exhaustion won, and you drifted off to sleep.

A gentle shake pulled you from the haze of dreams.

"Hey," Aiden's voice was soft, careful, like he knew you needed it to be. "I got us a motel room for the night. Come on, let’s get inside."

You blinked at him, still half-asleep, the neon glow of the motel sign flickering through the windshield. His face was shadowed by the dim light, but his eyes—warm and steady—were watching you with quiet understanding.

You nodded, stretching slightly before unbuckling your seatbelt. Maybe tomorrow would feel easier. Maybe the ache in your chest would dull with time. But for now, you had Aiden, a place to rest, and the road still waiting for you in the morning.