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Summary
Minho had always been the wrong kind of boy in a town that watched too closely. Jisung was the one they looked right through even as he disappeared into bruises. With nothing left but half a tank of gas and a lighter too eager to burn, Minho does what he does best: steal and run.
The car was stashed just up the road. He’d stuffed cash from his last twelve shifts at the diner into a cardboard VHS sleeve. Duct-taped under the passenger’s seat.
He thought about those nights half a year ago when they’d lie on the hood of Minho’s car and talk about what-ifs. What if we lived on the run and made songs no one heard. What if we were outlaws. What if we slept curled together like prey animals and learned to be invisible.