Alex woke to rain—a familiar soundtrack by now. Forks had a way of letting water set the schedule, and Alex didn't fight it. He lay back, listening to the steady drumming on the roof, then stretched and yawned, letting his mind drift to the day ahead.
He'd decided: today would be for exploring, seeing what small-town life actually meant outside of meme rumors and moody, moss-draped movie scenes. Bookstore, café, maybe a stroll past downtown for a feel of the place. The kind of itinerary that, in San Diego, would've sounded like a chore but here… it felt almost like an adventure.
Hurriedly, he scarfed down a bowl of cereal and tugged on his favorite hoodie. As he pulled on his boots, he glanced out the mudroom window at the old pickup sitting in the garage's shadow. The thing was more rust than paint, with a dented fender and foggy headlights—a stubborn survivor, but about as exciting as its colorless life in the rain.
Alex grinned, a mischievous spark lighting his eyes. Might as well have a little fun.
He padded out to the garage, key in hand, breath white in the chilly air.
"Alright, reality," he said under his breath. "Let's be cinematic today."
He faced the old truck, closed his eyes, and focused—not with the urgency of wishes or the drama of legends, but with the lazy confidence of a guy who'd rewound save files a thousand times. He pictured the boxy lines smoothing, paint deepening into a dangerous graphite: the John Wick car—a 1969 Ford Mustang Boss 429—every detail sharp and clear from years of movie reruns. The right kind of tires, the understated racing stripes, the throaty, hungry growl of the engine he'd always dreamed of but never expected to hear outside a theater.
He snapped his fingers, just for the style points.
When he opened his eyes, the transformation was complete. In place of the battered pickup, the Mustang stood silent and beautiful, dew glistening off perfect black paint. Alex let out a low whistle, grinning. "Now we're talking."
He circled the car with the awe of a dreamer who's finally gotten a wish granted. The badge on the grille read 'Boss 429,' just as he pictured. Even the interior smelled faintly of polished leather and possibility. Alex slid into the driver's seat, feeling the cool touch of metal and the perfect give of the steering wheel.
He started the engine—the Mustang answered with a throaty, cinematic roar that vibrated all the way down to his sneakers. Alex almost laughed. "John Wick, eat your heart out."
For a second, he considered whether reality would snap back when he stopped thinking about it. But the car stayed real, solid, and stubbornly cool. Forks would have to accept a little extra horsepower today.
Alex eased the Mustang out onto the road, marveling at the smooth purr under the hood—the garage door rattled a little, and he couldn't help rolling down the window to let the rain-misted air mix with that muscle car scent. "Can't waste a day indoors with a ride like this," he murmured.
First stop: Moonlit Pages.
The Mustang drew stares even at crawling speed—Forks wasn't used to that kind of shine— but Alex just smiled and nodded to the scattering of old-timers watching from under awnings. He parked neatly near the shop, appreciating the sight for a quick selfie: Alex, rain, and the classic car—cool without trying.
Inside the bookstore, the warmth and quiet were a welcome contrast. Mrs. Darlene, the shop owner, greeted him with a smile.
"That's some car you've got there," she said. "Didn't know we got car shows in this weather."
Alex grinned, keeping his secret.
"Restoration project. Had to make it worth the rain." He browsed the stacks, picking up local folklore, a battered manga collection, and something about Northwest legends—figuring that somewhere between these books and 'reality manipulation,' the world would start making more sense.
Next up, The Drizzle Bean café.
Alex left the Mustang parked where he could see it from the window, ordering his usual "surprise me, but caffeinated" from the barista. His phone buzzed with a photo he'd just snapped—Mustang proudly gleaming, rain streaking the windshield. He forwarded it to his own email, title: "Achievement Unlocked."
As he nursed his coffee, Alex soaked in the view outside: a gray, dreamy town, cars rolling past, people darting from door to door. Every so often, someone would slow down to glance at the Mustang, curiosity pulling their gaze. Alex smiled. Let them guess.
Coffee buzz warming his chest, Alex headed back to the car and roared gently onto the main road, enjoying the contrast between the Mustang's power and Forks' sleepiness. As he hit a turn near the edge of town, a familiar police cruiser pulled up just ahead and signaled for him to slow.
Alex eased the Mustang to a smooth stop as the cruiser parked at the curb. The driver's door creaked open and out stepped Charlie Swan, unmistakable in his down-to-earth uniform and weathered expression.
Charlie approached, eyeing the car appreciatively. "That's quite the machine you've got there," he called, rain dripping off his hat.
"Thanks," Alex replied, rolling down his window. "Labor of love. Worked on it for years." Mostly true, even if the last ten seconds were pure magic.
Charlie nodded, a flicker of respect in his eyes. "Looks like the kind of car that gets you noticed. You new in town?"
"Just moved in recently from San Diego," Alex answered, easygoing as ever. "Trying to see the sights—figure out where things happen around here."
Charlie's gaze softened. "Not much happens, unless you count wet socks and traffic on school days. I'm Charlie Swan, by the way."
"Alex Kim," he replied, shaking Charlie's offered hand.
Charlie leaned on the door frame, friendly but direct. "Mind if I ask how old you are, Alex?"
"Twenty. Turning twenty-one soon." Alex answered without hesitation.
Charlie nodded. "Good to know. Don't get many young folks passing through unless it's for fishing or the occasional hiking group."
A brief, almost shy smile crossed Charlie's face. "My daughter Bella's about your age. She's coming up from Arizona next week to stay for a bit." The words hung in the air—not a sales pitch, just a dad mentioning what mattered.
Alex recognized the undercurrent—Charlie wasn't just making conversation. He was grounding himself in family, community, maybe checking out the new local with the muscle car. "That's cool. Big move for her?"
Charlie hesitated, then nodded. "Big enough. Arizona's a world away from Forks. But everyone needs a fresh start sometimes."
"Couldn't agree more," Alex replied, sincerity cutting through the drizzle. "Still figuring out how to make this place mine."
Charlie's expression softened further. "Give it time. Forks grows on you, or so they say. And any friend of good cars and moody weather's off to a good start."
He tipped his hat and stepped back. "Well, I won't clog up traffic. Take care, Alex—and, uh, try to keep the speed reasonable. This road likes to surprise you."
Alex flashed a lazy salute. "You got it, Chief."
Charlie climbed back into his cruiser and rolled away, leaving Alex alone for a moment—rain beating gently on the Mustang roof, the world outside humming with potential.
The Rest of the Day
Alex cruised through town, the Boss 429 handling every turn like it was born for these roads. People waved; others gawked.
Every light and shadow on the car's hood made him feel like, if only for today, he was living a scene worthy of any big-screen legend.
Late afternoon, he pulled back into the driveway, garage door rattling as the Mustang slid smoothly into its new home. Alex shut off the engine, savoring the echo of its idle, and just sat for a bit.
He thought about Charlie's words, the small-town welcome, Bella arriving in a week—the canon timeline unfolding before him, with his own story spliced in, effortlessly relaxed. He smiled to himself. "Reality manipulation's never been this much fun."
As night crept in and the rain steadied, Alex grabbed his folklore haul, warmed up leftovers, and drifted between pages and playlists, letting the day's small adventures settle like mist on the windows.
Forks, he realized, wasn't just a setting out of a book anymore. For better or weirder, it felt like home. And whether the car he drove, or the memories he carried, or the powers he could command—he was ready to own every easygoing, unexpected moment of it.