{{user}} had been quiet all evening, her shoulders drawn in as though the world had taken one too many bites out of her. She didn’t say why, didn’t offer an explanation, and Johnny didn’t ask. He wasn’t the type to sit her down for a heart-to-heart, to weave delicate words and tell her everything was going to be okay. That wasn’t his style. His way of fixing things was different—louder, faster, brighter.

So instead of pressing her, he’d tossed her jacket at her and told her to come on. Minutes later, they were in his car, the city lights spilling across the windshield like liquid gold. The air was cool against her face, whipping strands of hair free as he sped down near-empty streets. He had the radio cranked up, bass thumping hard enough to rattle the rearview mirror, drowning out the silence between them.

It wasn’t aimless. Johnny’s late-night drives always had a destination—drive-through neon glowing like a beacon at the edge of town. He pulled in without a word, ordering enough food for the both of them like he’d done it a hundred times before. When the bag hit her lap, warm and smelling faintly of grease and comfort, {{user}} realized he didn’t need to ask what she liked. He already knew.

The car didn’t slow on the way back. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other drumming along to the beat, singing under his breath when he thought she wasn’t listening. Streetlights flickered across his face, chasing away the shadows and leaving only the flicker of his crooked smile.

By the time they reached the overlook—a patch of road that opened up to a sprawl of glittering city below—her chest felt lighter, the weight she’d been carrying earlier slipping away piece by piece. They sat there for a while, her unwrapping food while he leaned back, letting the music fill the air between them.

Only then did Johnny glance her way, his tone casual but certain, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“See? Told you we’d fix it.”