You were standing by your car, one hand on the gas pump, the other holding a cigarette between your lips. The cold night air bit at your skin, but the warmth of your smoke and the dull hum of the gas station lights made it all bearable. Almost done, you thought. You’d be back in your car and out of here soon.

But then, from behind, a soft voice broke through the silence.

“You’re not allowed to smoke while pumping.”

You turned, seeing the attendant standing by the kiosk, his name tag reading Lloyd. His expression was unreadable, but there was a certain softness in his eyes, almost pleading. You sighed, flicking the ash off the end of your cigarette.

“I’m almost done,” you muttered, giving him a half-hearted wave to dismiss the issue.

Lloyd seemed to hesitate, glancing between the cigarette and you. Then, with a soft sigh, he stepped a little closer. His voice dropped an octave, quiet and almost too casual.

“Well, maybe… you could come inside? You know, hang out a bit while you finish up. It’s a bit cold out here, and, uh… the storage room’s just through the door. Got the keys, just in case.”

Maybe it was the way his puppy dog eyes followed you as if begging you to say yes, or maybe it was the fact that the gas station was practically empty, and you couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being stuck in the middle of nowhere.