nate’s truck has always been one of the places you’d promised yourself to never step into. in all honestly, he was a shitty driver. the first, and only, time you’d ever gotten in the truck with him behind the wheel was after he’d first gotten his driver’s license.

the moment you got out you promised yourself to never do it again.

you loved him, of course. but you could definitely admit he had some flaws. the bad driving, the anger issues (which probably played into the bad driving), the jealousy problems, and plenty more you practically forced yourself to forget about.

but maybe that just made him more human.

or more reckless.

against all promises you’d made yourself, you’re currently sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, watching as the speedometer travels from 60, to 70, to 80, to 90, to just past 100.

nate’s hand is on your thigh, as if silently telling you to stop worrying about it. you don’t dare to bring it up, knowing it would probably only make him angry. instead, you force your eyes over to the window, watching as your surroundings flicker by, the music in the truck flooding your ears quickly being drowned out by the sound of wind as nate rolls the windows down.

idiot. you want to say. but you won’t. instead, you pull your lip between your teeth and keep your eyes trained on the now open window.

“stop worrying about it.” he finally says out loud, tapping his fingers against your thigh in an almost frustrated way. “just relax. listen to the music.”