Rea sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her hands curled into fists in her lap.
Aster's car smelled like leather and faint traces of spearmint. The dashboard was cluttered—loose change, an old pack of gum, and a few crumpled notes shoved into the corners. Music hummed from the speakers, something low and steady, a contrast to the sharp edges of the boy beside her.
"This is a terrible idea," she muttered as he pulled out of the parking lot.
Aster smirked. "Then why'd you get in?"
She hesitated. She didn't know.
Because he told her to? Because she was too tired to argue? Because, for some stupid reason, she trusted him?
Instead of answering, she turned to look out the window.
"So," Aster said after a moment, "where am I taking you?"
Rea blinked. "You don't know?"
"Nope."
She frowned. "Then why—"
"You seemed like you needed an escape," he said simply.
Rea swallowed.
He wasn't wrong.
"Left at the next street," she said quietly.
Aster followed her directions without another word.
For the first few minutes, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't easy, either. It felt like something waiting to be filled.
Finally, Aster broke it.
"So," he said, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, "you gonna tell me why you freaked out over a stupid fight?"
Rea stiffened. "I didn't freak out."
Aster raised an eyebrow.
She huffed. "I just... didn't want you to get hurt."
Aster snorted. "I can handle myself."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is the point?"
She turned to face him. "Why do you do it?"
Aster glanced at her. "Do what?"
"Fight. Get into trouble. Push people away."
He laughed, but it wasn't amused. "That's a lot of assumptions, new girl."
Rea didn't back down. "Am I wrong?"
Aster's grip on the wheel tightened.
For a second, she thought he wouldn't answer.
Then he said, "Sometimes it's easier to be the person people already think you are."
His voice was quiet, almost lost beneath the sound of the engine.
Rea studied him, trying to piece together the boy beside her.
People assumed things about her all the time. That she was cold, detached, uninterested. That she liked being alone.
But Aster... he was choosing it.
And she wasn't sure which was worse.
Before she could respond, he turned the wheel sharply, pulling onto a side street.
Rea frowned. "This isn't my house."
"I know."
Her heart stuttered. "Then where—"
"You'll see."
The car slowed to a stop in front of an empty field. Overgrown grass swayed in the wind, and in the distance, a rusted metal fence surrounded what looked like an abandoned park.
Aster killed the engine and shoved the door open.
Rea hesitated.
Then, with a sigh, she followed him.
The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and something faintly sweet—wildflowers, maybe.
Aster shoved his hands into his pockets. "I come here when I don't feel like being around people."
Rea glanced at him. "You mean all the time?"
He smirked. "Pretty much."
She looked around. It was quiet, peaceful. The kind of place that didn't demand anything from her.
She liked it.
Without thinking, she sat down in the grass.
Aster raised an eyebrow. "Getting comfortable already?"
She shrugged. "You brought me here."
He huffed a laugh, then sat beside her.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Rea said, "You don't have to be what people expect you to be."
Aster exhaled, staring up at the sky. "Easier said than done."
"I know," she admitted.
He glanced at her, something unreadable in his expression.
"Why do you care?" he asked finally.
Rea hesitated.
She didn't know.
Or maybe she did.
Maybe because she saw herself in him.
Maybe because, for the first time, someone saw her too.
Instead of answering, she plucked a blade of grass from the ground and twisted it between her fingers.
Aster didn't press.
And somehow, that silence felt like an answer all on its own.