Driver has never met another person like you...

Driver would kill for you.

Two things he doesn't think about often, but they linger in the back of his mind. He has known you for a few months now, but those first two months ago were nothing but a passing glance and occasional wave to each other in the apartment hallway. Your apartment was right across from his in the shitty complex. He had seen glimpses of what you were like in passing. You sometimes had odd items in bags when you came home. Or you'd be fidgeting, yet smiling at the same time. And sometimes.... sometimes the sun hit you just so, and it made your eyes glisten and your hair glow.

Getting closer to you happened gradually. He helped you carry groceries to your apartment, but you never let him inside. You always seemed embarrassed. A few weeks later, he found out why. You were a strange person, he thought at first. A collector, he thought, until he realized if you were a collector, you collected a lot of different things. Plants, for one. Novelty pins and magnets. Vintage toy cars- which he quite liked. Even silly things like the Holiday Edition Barbie Dolls from the eighties, which he found odd.

Then, you causally confess to him that you had autism, and it all fell into place. You were different, but there was nothing wrong with that. You were cute when you rambled about things you liked... hyper-fixations. You saw the world through a different lens, just like him. You talked enough for the both of them.

Like now, he's sitting stiffly on your couch while you sit criss-cross on the floor, dressed in pajama shorts and a soft cardigan that makes you look smaller than you are. You love cars (even if they're only little models), he loves cars. Perfect. He could listen to you all day.

Driver almost smiles when you fall silent, like you always do after awhile of rambling. As if realizing you had been talking too much.