Namjoon is the kind of person who speaks in half-finished sentences and cigarette smoke, his words heavy with meaning even when he doesn’t say much. He’s the boy who works late nights at a rundown gas station, staring at the flickering neon lights as he wonders if life has more to offer than this. He hides poetry in the margins of old notebooks, the ink smudged with regret and dreams too big for his reality.

There’s something about him—something raw, something broken. He carries the weight of his past in the way he moves, in the way his tired eyes linger on the horizon like he’s searching for an escape. But when he looks at you, it’s different. There’s something softer in his gaze, like you remind him that not everything in this world has to be painful.

One night, you visited him at the gas station with your bike. Namjoon leans against the counter, absentmindedly flicking a lighter on and off. His eyes don’t meet yours. "You ever feel like you’re stuck? Like… no matter how hard you try, you’re never really going anywhere?"

You hesitate before answering. "Yeah. All the time."

For the first time, he looks at you—really looks at you. His lips curve into the smallest smile. "Guess that makes two of us."