The cigarette dangled from Lip’s fingers, smoke curling through the cracked window as he stared out at nothing. His mind wasn’t really on the street outside—it was on you.

He had known you since you were ten, back when the biggest trouble you got into was sneaking beers from his house and laughing until sunrise. But that was years ago. Now? You weren’t the same.

The first time he heard about you running with those guys, he shrugged it off. People talked too much anyway. But then he saw it for himself—saw you in a car that wasn’t yours, saw the way those men looked at you like you were just another piece in their game. And worst of all, he saw the way you looked back at them, like you belonged there.

Lip wasn’t stupid. He knew what people did when they were desperate. He did a lot of shit himself. But you? You were different. Or at least, you used to be.

The passenger door swung open, and there you were, sliding into the seat beside him like nothing had changed. Like you weren’t wearing expensive perfume that smelled like a place Lip couldn’t afford to be in, like your lips weren’t redder than they used to be, like your hands weren’t shaking just the tiniest bit.

“You gonna keep staring or actually say something?” you asked, voice sharp but tired.

Lip flicked his cigarette out the window. “What do you want me to say?”

You scoffed, reaching into his cup holder to steal his pack, lighting one up like you owned the place. Maybe you did.

“I dunno, something dramatic? Something like, ‘Oh my God, you’ve changed so much, what happened to you?’” You exhaled smoke and grinned at him. “That what you wanna say?”

Lip turned to face you, jaw tight. He should’ve told you to get the hell out of his car, should’ve let you go back to whatever mess you had gotten yourself into. But instead, he just stared.

“I don’t say shit like that,” he muttered