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He looks like a ghost.
Not that Simon believes in ghosts, but at night the road becomes a strange place, almost like he can cross the line between this world and some alternate space anytime. Sometimes, when he stops for a cup of coffee at a gas station this late, and he’s the only one sitting there, he feels like he’s all alone in the world, like the whole population was wiped out during some catastrophe or epidemics and he’s the only miraculous survivor.
But although he knows that the person he’s seeing is real, has to be real, what is he supposed to think of a boy walking down the side of the road dressed only in jeans and a white sweatshirt when Simon is sure - and the red digits on his car stereo temperature display confirm it - it’s freezing cold outside?
He slows down, just to make sure he is really not seeing things, but as the reflectors hit the figure, he sees the boy is very much real. He doesn’t turn around, though. Whether he didn’t notice the truck following him or he doesn’t care, he walks at a steady pace that is probably the only thing that keeps him going. Like when soldiers march to the music because the rhythm is the only thing that keeps them from falling down. There is something mad about it. Most probably, the boy’s either in deep trouble, or out of his mind.
Against his better judgment, Simon pulls over at the side of the road.
The boy stops, and almost like he wants to confirm Simon’s theories, gripping the door handle seems to save him from falling. He crawls inside the cabin with a certain effort and takes good care of not meeting Simon’s gaze as he settles in. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and hasn’t eaten even longer than that.
“Where are you heading?” Simon asks as he pulls back out onto the road.
“Esbjerg.”
Simon is pretty sure it was the first town that came to his mind and he blurted it out just to sound a bit more in control.
“Seems like your trip wasn’t planned,” he notes. Clothes left aside, the boy is carrying a small backpack not suitable for any journey longer than a half-day trip.
“Is that a bad thing?” the boy mumbles, shifting in the seat uneasily.
“When it’s bad for your health, then probably yes.”
He puts the heating on higher, because the boy is still shivering. His blonde hair, just half a shade darker than Simon’s maybe, is damp from the night fog, falling in his eyes.
“What’s your name?” he asks, surprisingly, like he’s somehow warmed up to Simon after that last sentence or the small gesture.
“Simon.”
“I’m Viktor.” His eyes lift from his lap for a moment, just enough to take in Simon’s face, before he lowers them again, watching his tightly knit fingers.
Simon takes the paper cup from the holder between their seats and holds it out to Viktor, his eyes not leaving the road, despite it being empty. “Take it. It should still be warm.”
Now the boy looks genuinely surprised, and Simon kind of shares that feeling because he doesn’t know what the hell he is doing, he’s not here to save anyone, but he still remembers the times when he was in the need of saving.
For a while, they don’t speak. The radio is playing quietly and Simon half expects the broadcaster to start reading a missing report, but Viktor looks way too old to be a child running away from home, although he is just as desperate and lost and probably running away from something. But the way he’s sipping on Simon’s coffee is also way too much detached and almost peaceful for him to be running away from cops.
“I’ll be stopping at a motel,” Simon says then. “I need to get some sleep. It’s near Holstebro, if you want to get off there.”
Viktor doesn’t answer, not until Simon looks at him directly.
“Or I can take you to Esbjerg. In the morning. If you really want to go there.”
Viktor hesitates. Simon sees that he’s on the verge of admitting that he lied, but at the same time not ready to leave the warmth of the cabin and someone’s presence.
“I do,” he says and looks out of the window, like lying still makes him ridiculously uncomfortable.
“Fine.”
They don’t speak again until they arrive at the motel.
*
The parking lot is half-empty, promising a calm night. Sometimes things can get a bit wild there, rules, regulations and laws be damned.
Simon grabs his documents and all valuable things and opens the door on his side. He turns to Viktor, who is still sitting there like he expects Simon to murder him.
“Are you coming or not?” he asks.
Viktor shifts nervously again, clutching the straps of his backpack. “I can stay here.”
“No way.”
“Why? Are you afraid I’ll steal your truck?”
Simon smirks. “To be honest, I doubt you can even drive.”
“Then why can’t I sleep here?”
“Because it’s not safe. End of discussion.”
Viktor holds his gaze for a while, almost like he’s challenging him, and then opens the door resolutely and jumps down, following him like Simon is not doing him a favor at all.
*
The room is small and simple, with the obligatory double bed, because paradoxically one’s not expected to sleep alone in a place like this, but it’s at least warm and relatively clean. Viktor looks around like a trapped animal, and it takes him some time to relax at least enough to let go of his backpack and kick off the wet trainers.
“I think a hot shower will do you good,” Simon says, nodding towards the tiny bathroom.
For the first time, Viktor’s lips curl in a smile. “Will you feed me, too, and tuck me in bed?”
Simon smiles as well and rolls his eyes for good measure. He switches on the TV and switches it off again, not finding anything he’d be even slightly interested in, then scribbles in his logbook and goes through his phone before it’s his turn for the shower.
When he comes back, Viktor is curled up on the bed, back facing the wall, the safest way to sleep. Whether it’s instinctive or learned, Simon doesn’t know and doesn’t want to know, because all in all, both options mean the same thing.
He gets in the bed, slowly and carefully, keeping as much space between them as possible, and switches off the light on the nightstand. The room gets silent and only then he realizes there was a soft buzzing coming from the lamp, and that it most likely was Viktor’s lullaby.
He stares at the ceiling, suddenly wide awake when he only has a few hours to get his body rested.
“That was nice,” he hears a whisper next to him.
“What?” he asks, turning his head slightly to look at Viktor.
“When you said it wasn’t safe to stay outside. You meant it wasn’t safe for me. That was nice. Almost like you cared…”
Simon wants to laugh, but before he can take a breath, the boy climbs over him. His eyes are shining, but it’s a sickly, feverish shine, and his skin is indeed burning when Simon touches him, more to push him off and tell him that they shouldn’t, because he’s the one sane here. But Viktor leans over him and kisses him like it’s all he needs, like it’s the only way to make things better, and Simon knows it’s not, but doesn’t have the heart to tell him so.
When he flips them over, Viktor finally relaxes, looking up at him with a dazed smile and unfocused eyes, like it’s not the road, but this anonymous motel room that is the line between this world and some alternate space, and he’s already crossed it.
*
When Simon wakes up in the morning, the room is empty. He didn’t expect anything else. He once disappeared like this as well.