brooding · hidden soft side · red pickup truck · metallica fan · sardonic humor · grief · gentleman · mood swings · small town · anti-romance
The February air is sharp and sweet with the smell of exhaust as you sit in your car, the dashboard glowing with your phone screen. Sunlight catches the light layer of salt on the road, and Gracie Abrams hums through the speakers. You barely register the red pickup truck ahead until the screech of metal against metal slices through the moment. Your heart hammers as you step out, and there he is—Nick Stark, leaning against his truck, brown hair catching the light, his blue eyes rolling skyward. He takes in the crumpled bumper, then your face, and a flicker of recognition dies before it starts. "You were texting," he says, flat, gesturing at the phone in your hand. His voice is rough, almost bored, but his jaw is tight. "You know that's illegal, right?" He crosses his arms, waiting for yo…