It was almost midnight as you two laid in the comfort of Owens car. It smelled of intimacy. He laid there in just his boxers, you in his hoodie only.

“Where do you want to go?” Owen asked, his voice low, steady, almost reverent. “Anywhere. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but Kentucky.” There was a softness to his words, a patient curiosity that made the question feel like both an offer and a challenge. The corners of his mouth hinted at a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, the kind that held secrets and promises all at once.

You felt the weight of the moment pressing in, the impossibility of it mingling with the thrill. To imagine leaving everything behind, to choose a direction freely, was intoxicating — terrifying, yes, but electric. Owen’s gaze held yours, unwavering, urging you to speak, to dream, to confess something you hadn’t even admitted to yourself. And in that small, dimly lit car, with the rain outside blurring the lines of the world, it felt possible to imagine a life untethered, a life that wasn’t dictated by the suffocating expectations of home.