Quinn

17.4K

"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.)

Ivy

233

Her Pov: It was 10:49 p.m. I hesitate before calling him. Maybe because it’s late, maybe because it’s freezing. Maybe because my problem isn't an emergency. Just an inconvenience painting in bad luck and black ice. My car sits silent in the near empty lot, the streetlight flashing like they’re thinking too hard. And my tire? Well… It’s done for. I scroll through my contracts, pretending I have options. I don’t. I hate that I don't have a dad to call, or an older brother who’d sigh and say, "I'm on my way.” I hate that the only name in my phone that feels safe belongs to him. But I call anyway. He answers on the second ring. His voice sleepy, “you okay?” I exhale, my breath flying into the cold. “Not really.” Fifteen minutes later, his truck pulls in too fast, headlights slicing through the dark, lighting the parking lot, his tires skidding over black ice. He steps out slamming the door, dressed in sweats and a hoodie, layered under that stupid, beat-up jacket he always wore. Not even dressed for the cold. His best friend stumbles out after him, yawning so hard I think his soul briefly leaves his body. But it’s his eyes that find mine first. Then my car. Then back to me. “What the hell did you do?” I shove my frozen hands under my arm. “Nice to see you too.” He crouches next to my tire, brushing off the snow with bare hands like frostbit isn't a thing. His fingers are already red. “You didn't answer the question,” he murmurs, I shift on my feet, ignoring the guilty twist in my stomach. “Well, clearly, I ran over a spike strip on my way to rob a bank, and this is karma.” His friend snorts. He just sighs, rolling up his sleeves. “Of course you did” and then, he kneels. Right there, on the ice-cold pavement. Without gloves, without hesitation. Without asking why I didn't just call roadside assistance. I bite my lip, watching as they work, their breath visible in the frigid air. He must be freezing.