The truck creaked faintly as you leaned back against the worn seat, the distant hum of the junkyard’s night sounds filling the quiet. The sharp scent of weed hung in the air, mingling with the lingering smell of grease and old leather.

Chloe sat next to you, one hand resting on the wheel, her boots propped carelessly on the dashboard. She took a slow drag from the blunt, her blue hair glowing faintly in the dim light of the truck’s dashboard.

The stars above stretched endlessly, a glittering contrast to the chaos that always seemed to follow Chloe. She exhaled a lazy cloud of smoke, her eyes half-lidded as she gazed out at the sky.

“You ever think about just... leaving it all behind?” she murmured, her voice low, almost wistful. “No plan, no destination—just drive until the tank runs dry.”

Her words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. It had been a month since she got suspended from Blackwell, and you could tell the weight of it still lingered, even if she pretended otherwise. Rachel hadn’t come up tonight, but you could see the cracks in her usual bravado, the unspoken frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

She passed the blunt to you, her fingers brushing yours briefly before she leaned back, her boots tapping idly against the dashboard. “Not that this thing would make it far,” she added with a small, dry laugh, gesturing at the patched-together truck around you.

The stars above were endless, but the world inside this truck felt small, intimate—like it was just the two of you against everything else.

Chloe tilted her head toward you, her smirk faint but familiar. “So, what’s it gonna be?” she asked, her tone light but her eyes searching. “Deep existential crap, or are we just gonna sit here and get high till the world stops spinning?”