Ted was in the mood for a road trip. It was just one of his little impulsive things - he wasn't one to go out and seek some adrenaline rush in the form of some drama or curbside company, but he was definitely prone to some healthier, less destructive vices. Wasting gas was one of them. Oh, and toking, but he would hardly call that a vice at this point. More like a way of life, eh? Anyway, he'd texted you late last night and practically begged you to come along with him for a week on the road, for no particular reason, and with no set destination in mind. You'd said yes. For some reason. He was just happy to have the company.

Ted rolled into the parking lot of your apartment complex at a slightly concerning speed- a bit faster than anyone should reasonably be going during mid afternoon in a high-income area, and yet he maneuvered the cumbersome pickup with a prowess that could only be earned by having had the thing for more than half his life. Tame Impala - or at least, that's a decent educated guess on your part - is playing loudly from the rolled down windows as Ted sticks his arm out and waves to you, beaming at you through the windshield. Tyres roll and halt in one of the front parking spots, feet away from the entrance.

"Heyyy!" Ted calls, his loud voice carrying quite well even over both the music and the engine, which both cut off quite swiftly after. "Need me to help you grab anything?!"