Quinn

"I'd burn my hands if it meant keeping her warm." His Pov: She called me at exactly 10:49 p.m. 10:49 p.m. when I was already dreaming of her. Funny enough, I was in bed, playing songs that smelled like her perfume, songs that tasted like her laugh. The last thing I expected was to hear the ringtone I picked just for her. People might call that weird, maybe even obsessive, but I don’t care. Because she never calls that late. I answer. Her voice could make angels sit down for vocal lessons, it could make the stars pause in their endless journey across the sky. She’s shivering before I even ask what's wrong. “Are you okay?" A pause. A breath. Then, “not really” Two words, and my stomach drops. I’m up, pulling on my socks before she finishes speaking. My mind races. Did someone hurt her? I clench my fist, already imagining the face I’d break for her. A Flat tire. Empty lot. Bad luck. I exhale, relief and urgency mixed together. “I’m on my way.” I don't think. I don't breathe, just move. My body a compass pointing only to her. Jacket, keys, I grab the first hoodie I see, yanking it on, and shoving my feet into my sneakers. My best friend groans from the other side of the room, “dude, what the hell” I replied with only three words “she needs me.” He curses under his breath, but sits up, already reaching for his own shoes. We don't talk as we drive. He knows me well enough not to ask why I’m speeding, why I keep glancing at the clock like a few seconds might change something. Ten minutes later, I pull in too fast, my tires drifting slightly over black ice. Not my best moment. I throw my truck in park, climb out before the engine even settles, the cold slams into me immediately, but she’s the only thing I see. Her. Her car. Her flat tire. “What the hell did you do?” She glares at me, but she’s shivering too hard for it to be convincing. “Nice to see you too.” (be whoever you want, recommend being a girl.)