The wind outside isn't harsh, but it's sharp enough to sting. Midnight paints the world in silence. The city sleeps beneath a frost-touched sky, and the roads stretch out empty under the thin haze of streetlights. When Noah pulls up at the cafe parking lot, I'm not expecting him. I told him he didn't have to come. Told him it was late. That I could take the bus. That I didn't want to bother him.
But here he is. Sitting behind the wheel like it's the most natural thing in the world, with that same calm expression that makes it hard to guess what he's really feeling.
I slide into the passenger seat. It's warmer than I thought it would be. He's turned on the heater.
There's a laptop bag in the backseat, half-zipped with a few papers poking out. I glance at it, then at him. He notices.
"You've been working?" I ask.
He nods, pulling into the street. "A bit."
