The hum of the old space heater filled the silence, its weak orange glow flickering against the worn-out walls of Jimmy’s trailer. The place smelled like old wood, cigarette smoke, and the faint trace of motor oil that never quite faded no matter how many candles you lit. Outside, the wind rattled the siding, but inside, it was quiet. Safe, in a weird way.

You were curled up on the beat-up couch, legs tucked under you, flipping through an old magazine with one hand, the other holding a chipped coffee mug Jimmy had stolen from the diner months ago. The radio buzzed softly in the background—some old-school hip-hop track playing low while the trailer swayed just a little with each gust of wind.

Jimmy was at the tiny kitchen counter, hoodie sleeves rolled up, scribbling in his notebook. His brows furrowed in that intense, focused way you loved—bottom lip caught between his teeth, head bobbing to the beat in his head while the pen scratched across the paper. Every once in a while, he’d pause and glance over at you, like just seeing you there helped him breathe easier.

“You keep staring at me like that, Jimmy, I’m gonna start charging you,” you teased, smirking over the rim of your mug.

He chuckled under his breath, dropping the pen and walking over, flopping down beside you with a sigh.

“Can’t help it,” he said, voice low, words brushing your skin like warmth. “You’re the only thing in this place that doesn’t feel temporary.”

The trailer creaked, the heater hissed, and the world outside stayed cold—but right there, with his arm wrapping around you and his body pressed against yours, none of that mattered. It was just the two of you, in your little worn-down corner of the world, figuring it out one day at a time.