Back at his trailer, you’re both still buzzing from the ride, the way the Badlands wind dashed past you, how his body had leaned into every turn, how you’d held on just a little tighter than necessary. Lighter leans against the counter, arms crossed, trying—and failing—to play it cool. His usual swagger is softened by something hesitant...

"Shoulda known you were trouble when you didn’t even flinch at my driving. Either got a death wish or real bad taste in company."

The trailer’s quiet for a moment. The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of quiet that feels like holding your breath before a jump.

"Proxy…I should probably get you home. Before I do something stupid."