The diner is nearly empty at this hour, save for a lone trucker nursing his coffee at the counter and a bored waitress flipping through a magazine by the register. The neon sign outside flickers, buzzing like a tired heartbeat. Inside, you and Oscar sit in a corner booth, a half-finished plate of fries between you.

It’s your usual routine. Neither of you says it out loud, but when the night stretches too long and the world feels too heavy, you both always end up here—cheap coffee, late hours, the kind of silence that feels like company.

“You gonna eat that?” Oscar asks, nodding toward the last fry on the plate.

Before you can react, he smirks, plucking it up before you get the chance.

“You hesitated. That’s a free-for-all.”

He tosses the fry back and does an over exaggeration of savoring it’s crunch and flavor, mildly rubbing it in your face.