Alexander hadn't planned on going out.
Fridays were usually for work—either under a car or under the hood of someone else's. But Mason had insisted. Said something about burgers "fixing your soul" and how "normal people sometimes eat things that aren't from a gas station microwave." And after two hours of helping someone swap a busted intake manifold in a sketchy alley garage, Alexander figured he'd earned a damn burger.
The place wasn't special. It never tried to be. That's why he liked it.
No lights, no noise, no posturing. Just busted booths, grease-stained walls, and good enough food to not care. The kind of place that didn't care if you showed up in engine-stained clothes or thousand-dollar shoes.
He stood in line behind Mason and Troy, scrolling through texts he'd ignored all day.
Nothing urgent.
That's when he felt it.
That weird shift in the air. Like someone turned a dial inside his chest.
He looked up.
And saw her.
Elena.
Sitting three booths back, surrounded by laughter and noise and half-eaten burgers. Her friends were mid-conversation—one of them wildly gesturing with a fry in each hand—but she was still. Calm. Leaning slightly forward, one elbow on the table, a soft light catching in her hair. No stage smile. No wall up.
Just her.
Their eyes met.
And something settled.
He didn't smile. That wasn't really his thing. But his chest loosened a bit. Like breathing got easier just from seeing her not sad, not shaken, not cold. Just… there. Living.
She nodded.
He nodded back.
Simple.
Unspoken.
Still here.
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They hadn't talked since the ride. Not a word. But the memory hadn't faded for him. He could still feel the quiet in his car after she'd stepped out—the way her voice lingered even after she'd said thank you. The kind of interaction that didn't ring out like a bell, but sank slowly into your ribs and stayed there.
It was strange, how quickly people had always read him wrong.
Big guy. Quiet. Scar. Tattoos. Must be angry. Must be cold.
He got used to that.
But Elena hadn't looked at him like that. Not at the party. Not on the side of the road. Not now.
She looked at him like she was still figuring him out, and somehow that felt better than being understood.
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"Yo, Alex," Mason said, elbowing him as they reached the counter. "You want the double or the triple?"
Alexander blinked. "Double."
Mason smirked. "Right. Saving room for the fries."
They paid and moved to wait at the pickup counter. Troy had already dropped into a booth near the window, headphones in, mouthing along to a song only he could hear. Mason was still trying to guess the name of the fry guy behind the counter.
Alexander didn't move yet.
Not because he was trying to be close to her—he wasn't that guy—but because something in him was still quietly cataloging the moment.
The way she looked over again, just once. Like she wasn't sure if he'd noticed her noticing.
He did.
But he let it pass.
Some things weren't meant to be seized.
They were meant to unfold.
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He finally sat down across from Mason, basket in front of him, steam rising off the burger like the whole place had paused for a beat.
He didn't eat right away.
He watched her laugh.
Not obsessively. Just… observantly.
And for the first time in a while, he didn't feel outside of it all.
He felt in it.
Not fully.
But close.
Close enough to wonder what it would be like… if they weren't always just passing through the same spaces.
Close enough to hope this wasn't the last time they crossed paths.
And somehow, deep down, he didn't think it would be.