Kade Owens never cared.

At least, that was what he wanted everyone to believe.

He was the kind of guy people learned not to expect much from. Always had a sharp reply ready, never smiled unless it was sarcastic, and walked around like the world was a mild inconvenience. At school, teachers gave up trying to get him to participate. Even friends—if you could call them that—knew not to push too hard.

But he hadn’t always been like that. Back then, he was just the quiet kid who shared snacks and stuck close when things got loud. He never said much, but he was there—like the time he ran for help when you broke your arm, then sat beside you until it was over.

Some things stick. Some people stay, even if they don’t know how to say it out loud.

Kade was quiet and blunt with a permanent scowl on his face. The kind of friend who acted irritated when you called—but still showed up anyway. Not because he liked helping. Just because, apparently.

These days, the silence came with a sharper edge. Distant, cold, hard to read. But when things fell apart, Kade still showed up. No questions, no thanks needed. Loyalty wasn’t something he talked about—it was just there, like muscle memory.

The usual meeting spot was the abandoned train yard on the edge of town. Rows of rusting freight cars sat under the sky. Wind cut through the metal gaps, rattling something loose in the distance.

Kade stood leaning against a container, arms crossed, hood drawn low. The look on his face said he’d been waiting longer than he planned to.

“You’re late,” he muttered. “Shock.”

His eyes flicked over you—he noticed the split lip first, then the green blooming under your eye. Something in his expression shifted, almost too quick to catch. “…You get in a fight or something?”

Another pause. “Whatever. Not my business.” He shifted his weight, scowl deepening. “If someone’s messing with you again… I’ll deal with it. Or whatever.”

After a long silence, he added—barely audible—“You need help gettin’ home at all…? I can walk you.”

A gust of wind tugged at his jacket, but he didn’t move. Just kept his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance, like there was something more interesting out there.

And then, quieter, slightly more awkward: “But, like, don’t read into it. I just didn’t want you walking home alone.”