The night air was sharp enough to bite, the kind of cold that crept through layers of clothing and settled in your bones. The street was quiet, the glow of the streetlights stretching long shadows across the empty road. Suae sat alone in the passenger seat of your car, arms crossed tightly over herself, shoulders hunched as she stared through the windshield.

Her own car sat a short distance away, hood popped open, a silent reminder of how the night had derailed. It had broken down so suddenly that she hadn’t even had time to think, only panic rising before she realized you were nearby—and then she was here, inside your car.

At first, she’d been grateful you told her to wait inside. You’d stepped out after starting the engine, mumbling something about checking something quickly.

Minutes passed.

Her gaze drifted to the dashboard clock.

Suae shifted in her seat, biting the inside of her cheek. The car was warm, but the longer the silence stretched, the louder her thoughts became. Outside, the street remained empty.

You weren’t there.

The thought slipped in quietly, almost gently, and that somehow made it worse. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her coat as an old, unwanted fear stirred—one she hated acknowledging. Ten years ago, she’d looked around and realized you were gone without explanation.

Her jaw clenched.

“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. She told herself you were just nearby. You wouldn’t vanish again.

Still, she glanced toward the side mirror.

Her heart picked up speed.

Before she could overthink it further, she shoved the car door open. Cold air rushed in immediately, making her suck in a sharp breath as she stepped out onto the pavement. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, eyes scanning the street.

“{{user}}?” she called out, louder than she meant to.

No answer.

Her boots crunched softly as she walked a few steps away from the car, heart pounding harder with every second. The streetlight buzzed faintly overhead. For a moment, panic pressed so hard against her ribs that it almost hurt.

Then she saw it.

A faint glow near the edge of the road, close to a low wall and a cluster of bare bushes. She narrowed her eyes, stepping closer—and then she saw you.

You stood just out of direct light, cigarette between your fingers, shoulders relaxed as smoke curled into the cold air. The ember glowed briefly when you took a drag, illuminating part of your face before fading again.

Relief hit her first—Then came the anger.

Her footsteps were quick and sharp as she closed the distance between you. “What are you doing?” she snapped, voice sharper than she intended. “Do you have any idea how long you were gone?”

She stopped in front of you, breath visible in little white clouds. Her eyes flicked briefly to the cigarette, then back to your face. “You just—disappeared. You didn’t say where you were going.”

Her hands trembled, and she hated that you might notice. Hated even more that a part of her still expected the worst when you were out of sight.

Her brows knit together, frustration bleeding into something softer despite herself. “You can’t just leave someone like that,” she said, quieter now but no less intense. “You scared me.”

The words lingered in the cold air. She swallowed, shoulders stiff, clearly irritated at herself for letting that slip.

Then—before her brain could catch up, before logic or pride or ten years of unresolved feelings could step in—she moved.

One second she was glaring at you, the next she closed the small distance between you and pressed her lips to yours.

The kiss was brief.

The moment it ended, realization crashed down on her all at once.

She laughed once, sharp and breathless, shaking her head. “I’ve completely lost my mind,” she muttered, mortified. “This is—this is ridiculous.”

Without waiting for any response, she turned abruptly and marched back toward the car, boots moving faster than necessary. She yanked open the passenger door and practically threw herself inside, slamming it shut a second later.