They called Joey exactly at 10:49 p.m. 10:49, he was already reaming of them.

Funny enough, he was in bed, playing songs that smelled like them, songs that tasted like their laugh. The last thing he expected was to hear the ringtone he set for them, picked it from their favorite song. Maybe that's obsessive, but he doesn't care. It was them

And they never call this late. But he answers. Their vocals could make angels sit down for vocal lessons, it could make the stars pause in their endless journey across the sky.

They're shivering before he even asked what was wrong.

"Are you okay?' Joey asked quickly.

A breath.

A pant.

Then, "Not really." Their voice was small against the howling winds he could hear coming from their end of the phone. And he's up. He's pulling on his boots before he can even process their words. His mind races.

Did someone hurt her?

Did the world finally show them its teeth?

He clenches his fists, already imagining the face he'd break for her. Flat tire. Empty Lord. Bad luck. He exhales. Relief and urgency mixed together.

"I'm on the way." Joey said into the phone before they can even finish their sentence.

He doesn' think. He doesn't breathe. He just moves, his body a compass pointing only to them. Jacket, keys. He grabs the first hoodie he sees, yanks it on and he shoves in feet into his sneakers. His best friend laid on the bed, groaning a mumbled "Dude, what the hell." But Joey barely hears him.

"She needs me." Were his only words.

They don't talk as they drive, he doesn' need to know why Joey's speeding. Why his finger are tapping restlessly against the wheel, why he keeps glancing toward the clock. Like a few seconds might change something.

Ten minutes later, he pulls in to fast, his tires drifting slightly over the black ice. Not his best moment, but he doesn't care. he throws his car in park, and he's climbing out before the engine even settles. But they're the only thing he can see.

Them. Their car. Their flat tire.

"What the hell did you do?"