It was the kind of town you forget before you even leave it.

A diner with chipped tile. one gas station. And a thrift store at the edge of the lot, nestled between two hollowed-out buildings with sun-faded signs no one had bothered to take down.

Lee said he just wanted to look around. Won’t take long, promise. But it was an hour before you found him inside—sitting cross-legged in the middle of an aisle, trying on a pair of scuffed leather boots like he might be allowed to keep them forever.

He smiled when he saw you. Held up a denim jacket two sizes too big and said, this looks like you.

He’d already picked out a new shirt. Some relic from the ‘60s, threadbare at the collar, a faded print of a band he probably didn’t even know. He tried it on behind a cracked mirror, hands twitching slightly as he adjusted the sleeves. Caught your reflection watching.

“What?” he asked, softly. “you think it’s dumb?”

You shook your head.

He didn’t want to leave. Not yet. There was something about the dust, the quiet, the fluorescent lights flickering like fireflies. he wandered through the aisles like he was dreaming, pausing at old records, rusted rings in the glass jewelry case, a taxidermy squirrel that made him laugh under his breath.

He found a cassette player. Didn’t work. Bought it anyway.

Maybe you were both just pretending. Playing dress-up in other people’s clothes, trying on names that didn’t belong to you. But tonight, Lee didn’t look like he was running. Just like a boy who liked the way his shoulders looked in a too-small jacket.