You don’t know why you keep trying, but you do. You pick out a piece of candy and hold it up toward him. For a moment, you think he’s going to ignore you. He didn't care too much for candy, then, without a word, he parts his lips slightly, and you press the candy to them.

He takes it in slow, his jaw working as he chews, eyes still locked on the road. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t vanish, but it shifts—just slightly. His grip loosens. His breathing evens out. The kind of subtle change that most people wouldn’t notice, but you do.

"You always do that.” He says to you in a low tone.

“Do what?” You ask him confused a bit

Brian pauses, chewing thoughtfully before answering, voice quieter now, almost amused in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes

“Try to keep me human.” He then drives up to the store, the lights flickering.

"Let's go, don't try anything."