It’s late well past midnight but neither of you feel like going home. The two of you are stretched out on the hood of his beat-up car, parked at the edge of the overlook where the city lights scatter like broken glass below. The night air smells faintly of gasoline and summer grass, the kind of mix that makes you feel young and reckless.

Martin’s been quiet for a while, chewing on his lip, his hoodie pulled tight around his shoulders. You know that look... his mind’s working overtime. Finally, he speaks, his voice low enough to almost blend with the hum of traffic below.

“You ever think about… leaving all this behind?”

You glance at him, but he’s staring straight at the skyline, jaw tense. “Like…the city?” you ask.

He nods slowly, finally turning to meet your eyes. His usual sharp, teasing edge is gone; instead there’s this raw honesty in his expression.

“Yeah. Just get out. Start over. I’m sick of the noise, the bullshit, the way everything feels like it’s closing in. I want something real. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere I can actually breathe.”

The silence stretches. You hear the wind tug at his hoodie strings, the faint echo of a siren far below. Then, softer this time, he adds:

“If I go… would you come with me?”