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The road stretches long and quiet under the cover of night. The kind of black sky that doesn’t press in, but opens up—like velvet, like space. Empty highways blur past the windows, edged in flickering gold from the occasional passing streetlamp.
They’ve been on the road for hours now—long enough for conversation to fall away, for playlists to loop, for caffeine highs to fade into silence. The kind of stretch where time starts to unspool and you stop checking the clock. Her back aches a little from the seat. Her limbs are heavy, but her mind’s alert, floating somewhere between memory and motion.
Gigi glances in the rear view mirror. Cecilia is asleep in the backseat, curled up under an old hoodie that smells like the beach and lemon shampoo. One shoe off, one sock slipping down. Her face lit now and then, by the golden flicker of passing lamp posts. Dreaming, probably, of something far less mundane than this drive back home.
Gigi watches her for a moment too long, eyes flicking between the road and the mirror. There’s something about the way Cecilia sleeps—like she’s untouchable, half-translucent, belonging to another version of the world. Even here, in this borrowed hour, she’s luminous. It makes Gigi’s chest tighten, sharp and soft all at once. It’s ridiculous, probably, how much she wants to protect her from absolutely nothing.
Gigi smiles to herself, just a little. Not the kind that shows teeth. Just a small tug at the corners, felt more than seen.
The radio plays low—something with guitar and gravel and a melody that makes the road feel slower than it is. She taps the steering wheel in time with it.
Maybe this is all right.
Not thrilling, not monumental. Just good.
A month ago, things weren’t like this. They were all edges and static, both of them too quick to speak, too tired to listen. But something shifted after that fight in the parking lot, after the way Cecilia had looked at her—not angry, just worn down. That’s when Gigi had said, let’s get out of the city for a while. No plans. Just a drive. Maybe they needed to break the pattern to remember how to breathe near each other again.
It was good like warm air through the crack in the window. Good like knowing the way without a map. Good like Cecilia trusting her enough to fall asleep, even when they’re still figuring this out—whatever this is.
Gigi adjusts her grip on the wheel. Leans into the turn.
The world outside is hushed. Patches of fog hang over the grass on the sides of the road, slow-moving and spectral, like something out of a dream. A small animal—maybe a fox or raccoon—flits across the road’s edge, disappearing into the tall grass like it was never there. The dashboard clock ticks forward by one quiet minute. It’s the kind of drive where the silence isn’t empty—it’s full of everything you haven’t said yet.
It’s not forever, she tells herself, not harshly. Just honestly. They’ve got lives to get back to, deadlines and decisions waiting like hungry dogs. But this hour—this dark, quiet hour—belongs to them.
Gigi wonders, not for the first time, if this version of them could exist in daylight. In real life. Could they laugh like this when the bills come due, when the jobs and cities pull them in opposite directions? She doesn’t know. Maybe she doesn’t need to. Right now, it’s enough that Cecilia’s here, trusting her, breathing slow in the backseat like this is safe. Like Gigi is safe.
She lets herself breathe. Lets the tires hum beneath them.
Cecilia shifts in the back, murmurs something half-formed. Gigi’s heart jumps like it always does when she hears her name in Cecilia’s sleep voice.
She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t say a word. Just drives.
She’ll keep the car steady. Keep the music low and the speed gentle. Let Cecilia sleep a little longer. There’s no rush. If the hour stretches out, if the world forgets to notice them for a little while longer, that would be all right too.
One hour left. Maybe less. But for now, they’re still on the road.
The sky above is still velvet-dark, but lighter at the edges now—like dawn is thinking about arriving. Gigi doesn’t think about what comes next. Not yet. All she knows is that for this one hour, on this empty road and Cecilia breathing soft in the back, it feels like she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.