Trevor was a man of few words, a man with only a handful of people he'd consider friends, yet you were amongst the few.

Trevor sat at the counter, a cigarette between his lips as you prepared lunch. He's still pondering on why you'd check up on him and make sure he ate. You could tell he's had a rough past, yet you've never pushed him about it— he likes that about you.

"Why do you check up on me?"

He asks, curious about what goes through that pretty little head of yours. You could tell there's more to him behind those crimson eyes.