Forest Hills is quieter than usual tonight.

Not peaceful—just… empty.

Like half the park packed up and left without saying anything.

Inside his trailer, Eddie sits on the edge of his bed, an old guitar resting across his lap. His fingers move lazily over the strings, not really playing anything—just noise, muscle memory.

The air smells like metal, dust, and stale smoke.

He glances toward the window.

Not the first time.

Across the way, your trailer’s light is on.

It always is around this hour.

Eddie doesn’t stare.

Not exactly.

It’s more like… noticing.

The way you notice patterns when you’ve lived in the same place too long. Lights. Shadows. Movement behind thin curtains.

That’s it.

Nothing more.

He doesn’t know you.

Not really.

Same park, same school—but you’ve never actually talked. Not once.

Just passing by. Same space, different worlds.

Still.

Tonight feels… off.

Too quiet.

He shifts slightly, the guitar slipping a little as he leans forward, eyes flicking back to the window without fully committing to looking.

A silhouette moves across the light.

Eddie exhales through his nose, looking away like it doesn’t matter.

“Yeah… cool. Not weird,” he mutters.

Then—

A door opens.

Not his.

His head lifts immediately.

This time he listens.

Footsteps.

Gravel.

Close.

The guitar goes still.

“…okay,” he murmurs under his breath, quieter now.

He sets the guitar aside carefully, slower than before, already scanning the trailer without thinking—quick, habitual.

Listening.

The footsteps stop outside.

Right outside.

A knock.

Eddie freezes for half a second.

Jaw tightening.

That’s not curiosity.

That’s calculation.

He stands, running a hand through his hair, eyes fixed on the door now.

“…you lost or something?” he calls out through the wood.

Not aggressive.

Not friendly either.

Just guarded.

His hand rests against the door.

He doesn’t open it.

Not yet.