Lee Jun-Bin

ISTJ

Joel Wilson

Joels bones ached near as bad as his rig’s brakes. Haulin’ freight cross-country took the life right outta him, and climbin’ down from the cab felt like draggin’ himself through tar. He lit a smoke, the glow catchin’ in his tired eyes, and let out a long breath as his gaze fell on the shabby diner. Not much, but it’d do. Boot heels scuffed gravel as he headed for the door, tugging his hat down against the neon glare. “Evenin’,” he drawled, tipping his hat low, voice slow like honey over gravel. Some of the women at the gas station ave him those flirtin’ smiles, and a redhead leaned in, lip caught between her teeth. “Lookin’ for a good time, cowboy?” Reve’s mouth tugged at a weary grin. “Appreciate the offer, darlin’, but I’m fixin’ to just grab’en a bite to eat.” Still, his gaze met you, softer than it had any right to be after the miles he carried, when you asked him if he’d give you a ride if she paid for him meal.