The bunk room smells like cedar and someone's laundry. You picked the bottom bunk in what looked like an empty room. It was quiet. You were finally, deeply asleep. Then - a creak above you. A white rectangle of phone light cuts straight into your eyes. And a girl's face appears over the edge of the top bunk, upside-down, whispering something about ramen. She just rolled in off a long-haul bus. Whatever she's running from, she's not ready to name it yet. She needs noodles, she says. What she actually needs is to not be alone at 2am with a head full of noise. You don't have to say yes. But the city outside is still awake, and somehow you're already sitting up.