#onbc

We drove like that for a while - the music low, Mars occasionally humming along under their breath while they toyed with the loose thread on their sleeve again.

I found myself stealing the smallest of glances from time to time. The light caught on their skin, turning it warm and golden. It shone in their eyes, shifting mahogany to honeyed cognac.

Something changed, about an hour in.

I don’t know what activated some deep recess of my mind, but the tension slowly ratcheted back up in my muscles, until my shoulders were set and the wheel groaned softly under my hand.

They tilted their head a little without looking directly at me, their voice soft. “You know… The road’s not gonna go anywhere. You can loosen your grip a little. Promise I won’t judge you if you need to white-knuckle it again later.”

I blinked a little, surprised they’d noticed, and consciously tried to relax my hands.

It half-worked, at least.

“Old habit,” I muttered after a moment, gaze still focused on the road ahead.

“I figured,” they replied easily, shrugging a shoulder. “I mean, I imagine the cars took a little more handling back when you learned to drive. Did you still have to hand-crank them, or…?”

I let out a short, sharp laugh of surprise, turning my head to stare at them. “Did you just-”

“Make a joke about you being old? Yes,” they answered, grinning broadly.

I laughed again, a little more warmly this time, shaking my head.

But, whether intended or not, it worked. By the time we pulled into our first roadside stop - a gas station with a tiny diner attached that looked like it hadn’t changed in Mars’ lifetime - my posture was relaxed and easy once more, elbow resting on the open window as I drove.

I pumped the gas as they ducked into the diner, throwing an absent comment over their shoulder about checking out the specials.

By the time I was done and paid, they were ducking out of the door, two Styrofoam containers stacked in their hands and a bottle of water under each arm. Their tongue extended in concentration as they attempted to balance the containers against the door, and I raised an eyebrow.

“Do you-”

“I got it,” they attested, hooking a finger under the door and shimmying backwards until it was wide enough, placing the containers carefully on the seat before offering me a bottle of water with a flourish as I got in opposite. “For you!”

With a snort, I shook my head, unscrewing the top to take a long drink. “Thanks. What…?”

The aroma hit me before they answered, my mouth immediately beginning to water. “Pie. One apple, one cherry. Want one?”

I grinned a little, taking the proffered container with a grateful nod. “Thanks. It’s been a while since I had a real pie that didn’t come in a box.”

They laughed at that, settling deeper into their seat as they popped the lid on their container, the smell of warm cherry and homemade pastry washing over me. “I mean, arguably…”

I waved off their note with a chuckle, opening my own box and letting out a soft groan under my breath. “Holy shit, that smells incredible…”

Mars let out a soft laugh, carefully picking at the crust of their pie, tasting it tentatively before nodding as if satisfied and stabbing their plastic fork into it. I watched in silence, smiling a little.

It was… Domestic, in a way that should have felt strange, but, inexplicably, it didn’t. It was peaceful. And despite the unusual turn of my day, it felt like the most normal morning I’d had in longer than I could remember.

Mars talked more than I was used to.

The only person I’d really spent much time with in recent years was Steve - and he was no more inclined to idle chatter than I was. But Mars spoke freely, seemingly verbalizing their entire stream of consciousness.

“Oh, hey - look at these trees! Aren’t they pretty? I’m gonna wind down the window, I bet they smell amazing!”

“You’re tense again. I can take over for an hour if you want, so you can stretch? I can’t really drive, but the roads here are so straight, it’d be fine. Probably.”

“Is the music okay? I can put on something instrumental if you’d rather. Sometimes something without lyrics is nicer, you know?”

If I’d been asked beforehand if I’d find it annoying, I almost certainly would have said yes. If I’d been warned that my peaceful drive would be accompanied by an unceasing backing track, I’d have thought twice before agreeing to let them come along.

But I didn’t find it annoying - and I didn’t for a moment regret that they were sat beside me. Their unhesitating way of speaking was soothing, for reasons I couldn’t put my finger on. Honest.

They didn’t push, or assume. They simply…. Noticed.

At one point, Mars fell silent for a little while, pulling a small crochet project from the bag at their feet - something green and soft-looking, working idly as they hummed along to the music. My eyes were drawn to their hands, the almost instinctual rhythm of it, for longer than I intended before I looked back to the road.

“… What are you making?” I asked eventually.

They seemed a little startled that I’d spoken, head coming up as they blinked owlishly. “Hm? Oh.” Their eyes lowered again, appearing almost surprised by the material in their hands. “… I’m not really sure yet.”

“You’re… Not sure?” I echoed, lips twitching, and they grinned sheepishly.

“Nope. I just like doing the stitches sometimes. It keeps my hands busy.”

My mouth worked wordlessly for a moment before closing with a smile. “Well, okay then.” I fell silent for a few moments before speaking again. “… My mom used to crochet.”

“She did?” Mars asked, head tipping as they glanced at me, appearing genuinely interested.

I chuckled and rubbed my neck, mildly embarrassed under their attention. “Yeah. Just little things, usually. Stuff for babies of the women she knew, mostly. Blankets, hats - you know?” They nodded, still watching me with curiosity. “She was good, though. Could do all kinds of… Patterns? I don’t know the words,” I added, smiling softly at the memory. “But… Yeah. She was real good at it. As soon as she found out anyone she knew was expecting - and it didn’t usually take long, she seemed to have a nose for it - the hooks came out.”

“She sounds nice,” they replied gently, and I nodded back, jaw clenching slightly.

“She was. Yeah. She… She was the best.”

They lapsed into silence then, not rushing to fill the space created by my grief - and I appreciated it. Too many people offered empty platitudes or apologies, clearly uncomfortable, but they seemed to understand that some things were simply… Sad. That loss was painful, but it shouldn’t be shoved to the side.

They let me sit with my pain for a few beats, and I was grateful.

And then they saw a bird, gasped, and the endless stream of consciousness began again.

They kept their promise; they didn’t fall asleep for at least three hours.

But by the time late afternoon sun poured through the windshield, painting everything in a warm gold, Mars had drifted off with their temple against the window, the crochet hook still held loosely in one hand and the project resting on their lap. Their breathing came soft and even in the quieter moments of the music.

I didn’t turn it off. I simply drove - one hand loose on the wheel, shoulders relaxed, the road stretching out endlessly ahead. It didn’t feel like an empty or uncomfortable quiet, and I was surprised that having them sleep beside me felt… Peaceful, rather than strange.

It was starting to feel like an experience we were sharing, rather than one I was having with a witness. And something about that didn’t scare me like I thought it would.

They stirred when the sun dipped low enough on the horizon that it shone through the windshield and onto their face, scowling against the light as they sat a little higher. Instinctively, I reached over and flipped down the visor, earning a grateful grin that had my lips twitching back.

“I fell asleep,” they noted, guilt in their voice, and I let out a low chuckle.

“Yeah.”

“Did I snore?”

“Only a little.”

“… Did I drool?”

I glanced over at them, my mouth compressing into a thin line to hold back a snort. “… Only a little.” They let out a groan, and I laughed, unable to bite back the sound any more. “Ah, it’s fine. It’s been a while since the truck had a good wash.”

The groan intensified, their head disappearing into their hands. “Kill me.”

“I’d rather not,” I replied evenly, eyes flicking back to the road with a chuckle. “I’m quite enjoying the company.”

They looked up at that, their dismay quickly forgotten and eyes alight. “You are? Even though I fell asleep?”

With a smile, I nodded softly. “Hey, you kept your promise. I got at least three hours of awake before you passed out,” I tease lightly, grinning when they snorted.

We settled into a companionable quiet once more, with Mars commenting intermittently on the road and the surroundings.

“Are we stopping for the night at some point?” they asked when the sun had begun to inch below the horizon, and I hesitated. “We don’t have to,” they pressed, noticing my pause. “I was just wondering.”

My intention, when I’d planned the route, was to simply push through; it wasn’t like I slept well anyway. I’d rather drive through the night than stare at the ceiling for hours — or worse.

But the idea of stopping didn't seem as wrong as it usually would.

“Sure,” I replied after a few seconds. “I’ll keep an eye out for a place.”

It only took a few minutes to start seeing signs for a motel just off the highway, and we decided it was worth a look. Small and unassuming, it was the sort of place that came a dime a dozen — a neon sign that declared ‘VACAN Y’, and a handful of cars in a largely empty lot. Nothing special, but clean enough, and seemingly quiet.

I checked us in — and paid for the room, before they could inevitably attempt to offer — while they waited by the truck. By the time I returned a few minutes later, they’d pulled their hoodie tighter around themselves against the cooling night air.

We stood a moment, looking at one another uncertainly, the key clasped in my hand.

I wondered if they were also realizing that this would be the first time we shared a private space that wasn’t going somewhere. That we would just be… Existing, alone together.

I wondered if they had also become hyperaware of their heartbeat.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been alone with someone like that, other than Steve. Couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept — or tried to — with someone else in the same enclosed space.

My mouth felt too dry.

Snagging the bags over the edge of the truck to cut the moment short, I cleared my throat. “Come on. Room fifteen.”

There were — as requested and mercifully fulfilled — two queen beds. I took the one nearest the door automatically, while they claimed the one nearest the window, immediately setting about making the space feel more lived-in — phone charging, crochet on the nightstand, their hoodie coming off and draped over the back of a chair.

I ordered pizza from my cell — without difficulty and much to their surprise, they informed me with a grin. When silence descended, it was a little more awkward, a little more heavy, than it had been with the road running beneath us — but they filled it readily enough, making comments on the room, the drive… and how weird it was being somewhere new with someone they didn’t actually know all that well.

I snorted at that, the atmosphere effectively lightened.

Over pizza, with little else to distract us, the conversation deepened naturally.

Mars didn’t push, but asked questions without flinching away. They asked about the drive itself; they wondered why I’d decided to drive, rather than flying or simply shipping the box. I answered honestly, explaining the things I felt both Steve and I had missed out on — many of which would be impossible to replicate in any way.

“But I can do this,” I noted quietly, chewing thoughtfully. “Always figured I’d be driving out somewhere to see him — some fancy school, maybe. It feels… Right, doing it this way. Like a correction.”

I didn’t go into detail about the worst of things, but I didn’t shy away from all of it. I observed, softly, how strange it still is sometimes to have ordinary days. They didn’t try to offer platitudes or some misguided attempt at fixing things, but simply nodded.

“That makes sense.”

They fell quiet again after that — but it didn’t feel like heaviness, or grief, or pity. It just felt like space being offered, in case I wanted to say more.

I didn’t — not then. But the fact that it was held at all meant more than they could know.

After the food was eaten and the boxes thrown out, I stepped outside for a little air before I turned in, leaning against the side of the truck and breathing deeply.

I didn’t explain to them that, after everything, I wasn’t good at staying in one place for too long. Especially if that place was an unfamiliar enclosed space. They didn’t ask as I headed towards the door; I found that it didn’t surprise me. They had a tendency to simply… Notice. To understand.

It also wasn’t a surprise when they joined me a few minutes later, resting their forearms on the edge of the truck bed. I gazed out at the dark road out the way we came, while their head tipped back, eyes on the stars; I tried not to think about what our actions said about us.

In the quiet, I thought about all the nights that had come before. All the times I would have driven straight through without hesitating, even if — or perhaps especially if — the other option was to stop somewhere with someone else.

Nothing made me stop at that motel. Not Mars, not orders, not a mission. I’d simply looked over and seen them tired, and I hadn’t wanted to keep driving only to avoid being still.

It was a choice that I’d made of my own volition, and it felt like that mattered more than I was truly aware of yet.

Mars hummed under their breath beside me, seemingly content with whatever mysteries they’d discovered in the heavens, and turned to lean against the side as I did.

“This was a good day,” they murmured at length, gazing out into the darkness, the words coming almost absently.

I glanced toward them, quiet for a long moment before replying. “… Yeah. It was.”

Back in the room with the lights dimmed, Mars mumbled something about turtles as they slipped into sleep once more, a stuffed panda tucked without any hesitation beneath their chin. Their project rested on the blanket beside them, and I couldn’t help but smile softly as I rolled onto my back, gazing up at the ceiling.

I wondered if I’d ever feel normal about something like this — sharing my space with someone else, stopping when I didn’t have to. Someone existing beside me without it feeling like either a threat or an obligation.

But for the first time in longer than I cared to remember, glancing across the narrow gap between our beds at the slow, steady rise-and-fall of Mars’ breathing, tomorrow didn’t seem like something I would simply need to survive.

It was something I was actually looking forward to.

My eyes closed, and I fell asleep without fighting it.

I recognized the person on the other side, but it didn’t lessen my surprise as I opened the door.

“Uh… Hey, Mars.”

They stood on the other side in an oversized blue hoodie with a small hole in one sleeve, scuffed, heavy boots and cargo shorts that I knew from passive experience held all manner of animal-related paraphernalia. A small, uncertain smile tugged at their lips, and they held out a paper coffee cup, inhaling deeply.

“I, um- I saw you loading the truck. Heard on the grapevine that you’re going on a bit of a trip, and thought maybe you could do with some caffeine for the road.”

I snorted quietly to myself and took the cup, stepping back to let them in. “Let me guess… Mrs. Miller?” I asked, fond amusement in my voice. Our 73-year-old neighbour did little for the stereotype of the chatty old lady - she knew everyone’s business, and was certainly no stranger to sharing it with anyone she wished. She’d caught me on the phone on the steps two days before, telling Steve I’d see him soon, and within minutes she knew exactly where I was going and how long I’d be gone. She was like that - could pull blood from a stone if she so wished. There was a way about her that made her dangerously easy to talk to.

“Mrs. Miller,” Mars agreed with a sheepish little grin. “Bumped into her yesterday on my way back from walking Sage - you know the big bully you see me with sometimes? Pretty sure she filled me in within about five minutes. Apparently it’ll be good for you to get out of New York for once in your life, and see the world a little,” they added, the corner of their mouth twitching minutely, and I laughed, shaking my head. Despite our neighbor’s knowledge of the entire building’s comings and goings, she seemed to frequently disregard anything about our lives before this place - including the hundred-some years I’d lived before I ever set foot in this building.

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to see a different state,” I deadpanned, taking a sip of my coffee with a grin. Mars chuckled, then paused, looking down at the paper cup in their own hand for a moment.

“So - I’ve got some time off, and I mean… I make a pretty good passenger. I make playlists, I don’t mind the quiet, or I can talk for hours if you’d rather listen to me drone on about like, trees and stuff. And dogs. Often dogs.” They smiled uncertainly. “And I can navigate pretty well, especially if you want someone who won’t fall asleep for at least three hours.”

Almost shyly, they added: “I could be your snack curator. I have some pretty strong opinions about gas station crisps- chips,” they corrected with a roll of their eyes. “Damn Americans.”

I didn’t respond for a moment, watching them uncertainly. It had never even occurred to me to take someone with me - and even if it had, my sweet, slightly strange neighbor likely wouldn’t have been my first thought. Without really thinking about it, I opened my mouth to decline politely, reflexively, but something in their expression give me pause.

“… You sure? It’s a long drive,” I replied eventually, quiet, more than a little surprised at myself.

Their expression broke into a broad grin. “Only if you want the company. No pressure - I can always stay home and bother the local cat population with my attention instead.”

My eyes flicked between the duffel I’d half packed, the box on the table, then back to Mars. For the first time in longer than I could remember, the idea of company sounded… Nice.

“The truck leaves in an hour. I recommend bringing headphones in case I turn out to be terrible company. Oh… And I snore.”

Mars beamed, nodding once. “I have earplugs.”

We loaded their things into the truck bed - or rather, I did, given that they were short enough that they couldn’t see over the sides. They brought only a small overnight bag with crochet hooks sticking out of the zipper; I smiled fondly as I remembered my mom sitting by the window, crocheting a small teddy for a newborn a few doors down in our apartment building.

They got into the passenger seat with a reusable bag between their feet - covered in greyhounds, naturally - and pulled out a bottle of coke before immediately beginning to fiddle with the display, connecting their phone to it with ease while I simply stood with my door open, blinking.

“Took me almost half an hour to figure out how to do that when I got this thing,” I muttered, playfully sullen. “Damn kids today and their tech.”

I slid into the driver’s seat as Mars snorted. “Kids? I’m hardly a kid, Bucky.”

“You are to me,” I countered, settling into my seat. “I’ve got about eighty years on you.”

The familiar scent of old leather and warmth lulled me the way it always did - when the nightmares got bad, I often found myself driving aimlessly around the city. The middle of the night was about the only time the mileage was worth it in Brooklyn.

I started the engine with a glance at the passenger seat, and Mars simply grinned back.

The first twenty minutes passed in near silence, punctuated only by Mars’ musical selections and turn signals that became more dispersed as we made our way out of the entwined streets of the city.

But despite the lack of conversation, it didn’t feel uncomfortable, like I’d feared. It was more… Peaceful. Contented.

When they spoke at last, it was soft, unassuming.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to; I’m good with quiet. But if you do ever want to, I’m pretty good at rambling. Or listening, if you’d rather.”

I glanced over at them, taking in the way they leaned back easily in their seat, gazing idly out of the window with sunlight turning their light brown cheeks a warm fawn. They toyed absently with a loose thread on their sleeve, twisting until it curled into a ball, then releasing it to spring free before repeating the motion.

Something unexpected and comforting happened in my chest, and I nodded. “Noted.”

They smiled at the landscape beyond without looking my way, and I found a small smile tugging at my own lips as I turned my attention back to the road.

By the time we merged onto the highway, the morning sun was shining off the hood, and Mars had toed off their boots, feet tucked beneath them as they dutifully chose one song after the next, singing along quietly under their breath - not loud enough to be disruptive, but noticeable enough to make the space feel a little more… Lived in.

I didn’t quite know what I had agreed to, but I realized, as I glanced their way once more, that I was less tense than I had been in years. The wheel didn’t groan and protest under a too-tight grip, and my shoulders weren’t set in a hard, defensive line.

I was… Comfortable.

For the first time in a very long time, I found myself okay with not knowing quite what was happening.