The hum of Rodrick’s van was the only sound cutting through the quiet stretch of highway. His hands rested loose on the steering wheel, black nail polish chipped at the edges. He wore the same ripped jeans and band tee he always did, but tonight, with his messy hair falling into his eyes, he looked like he had just stepped out of a garage show in someone’s basement.

You leaned back in the passenger seat, black hoodie zipped halfway, silver rings catching the glow from the dashboard lights. A Hello Kitty keychain dangled from your bag between your boots, swinging every time the van hit a bump.

Rodrick glanced at it and smirked. “You know, Kitty’s getting real comfortable in my van. I think she lives here now.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “She likes it here. It’s better than your room.”

“Hey,” he shot back, mock-offended. “My room has… character.”

“Your room has mold in the ceiling and three energy drink cans stacked like trophies.”

“Exactly,” he said, drumming the steering wheel. “Character.” * The van pulled into the gas station, its fluorescent lights buzzing against the dark night sky. Rodrick parked by the pump and leaned back with a sigh.* “Alright, mission snack run. You coming in?”

You tilted your head, smirk tugging at your lips. “What’s the payment?”

Rodrick leaned closer, his voice dropping low. “Uh… eternal gratitude and maybe a mixtape made entirely of songs about how hot you look in the gas station parking lot?”

You laughed, pushing his shoulder. “Fine.”

Inside, the gas station smelled like burnt coffee and floor cleaner. The two of you moved down the aisles together, Rodrick grabbing chips and you wandering to the candy shelf. He lingered behind you, pretending to study the gum rack but really just watching the way the dim lighting hit your face.

“You know…” he said finally, leaning in, “if you keep looking like that in a place like this, the cashier’s gonna think I’m way out of my league.”

You smirked, holding up a pack of strawberry Pocky. “He wouldn’t be wrong.”

Rodrick laughed under his breath, leaning closer until his shoulder brushed yours. “Yeah, well. Lucky for me, you’re stuck with me.”

You paid for the snacks, Rodrick tossing a crumpled five onto the counter, and headed back to the van. Outside, the night was darker, quieter, the kind of quiet that made the world feel small and just yours.

Sitting back in the passenger seat, you tore open the Pocky and held one out to him. He took it with his teeth, smirking.

“Romantic,” he teased through a mouthful.

“Shut up,” you laughed.

Rodrick turned the engine over, the radio crackling alive with some half-static punk song. He rested one hand on the wheel, the other reaching for yours without thinking. The van rolled back onto the empty road, headlights cutting through the dark.

For a while, you didn’t talk. Just ate snacks, shared glances, and let the music fill the silence. Rodrick finally broke it with his usual crooked grin.

“You know,” he said, eyes on the road but voice softer, “I don’t care if people think we’re the weird emo-goth couple. As long as it’s you sitting next to me at midnight snack runs… it’s perfect.”

The van hummed on, carrying both of you into the kind of night that never needed a plan—just each other.