Born to burn

11. PICK UP. ____________________

PHOENIX POV

•

„I don’t think they liked that you got in.” I glance at them through the tinted window.

„They’ll live.” I lean back in the seat.

„Or combust. Either way, not my problem.” Fez chuckles, shifting gears with a soft click.

„Apathy looks good on you.”

„It always has.” I murmur as the car glides away from the curb, smooth, low, and fast.

•

The drive isn’t long, but I’m not used to waiting. Not when someone I barely know is behind the wheel and I’m just… sitting. I fidget with the sleeves of my hoodie. Glance out the window. Tap my boot once. Twice. I’m not scared. I’m coiled. Like something inside me hasn’t quite decided if I’m safe or just stupid. I cut my eyes toward him. Fez… he, with one hand on the wheel and a half-smile that’s all-knowing and no pressure. My fingers drum against the inside seam of my jeans. It's too quiet, I don't like it. I don’t want him to think I’m calm just because I’m not talking. I glance sideways. Fez’s hands are loose on the wheel. Maybe I’m not the first girl he’s picked up from the edge of a breakdown.

„Thanks for the save back there.” My voice is clipped. He doesn’t look at me, but his smile twitches.

„Anytime.” He says it easily. I wait. One beat. Two.

„What do you want?” I finally snap.

Because no one helps for free. Not in my world. His gaze flicks toward me just once.

„Straight to the point.” His voice is low, amused.

„I like that.” I don’t answer. He exhales through his nose. Taps his fingers on the steering wheel like he’s deciding how much to tell me.

„I want to talk.” He finally says. His eyes flick toward me again.

„Just simple conversation.” I don’t say anything.

„You looked like someone who’s had too many people talk at her. Thought maybe you could use someone who listens.” I stare at him like I’m trying to figure out what kind of trap this is.

„The f***k?! You some kind of guidance counsellor?” I mutter. He laughs.

„Hell nah, I’d be terrible at it, but I’m not here to hurt you either, so chill.” Then the silence stretches. Again. He glances at me once more.

„If you want out, I’ll pull over right now.” He shrugs.

„No tricks. Just say it.” I don’t answer, cause I don’t know what I’m doing and even tho I don’t trust him… I also kinda wanna know why he even noticed me at all. So, I shake my head and stay in the car. I want to hear what he has to say before I decide… There’s something about the way he says things.

„Alright. No running.” He says it like a joke.

„Guess that’s plus points for me.” He smirks pleased.

„Don’t flatter yourself. I’m still deciding.” I shoot back. He chuckles.

„Are you hungry, little dove?” He asks softly. I have this weird feeling all of a sudden… in over ten years no one has asked me that. It's so stupid, so normal, but… not for me. Of all the questions, I didn’t expect that one. Not how are you, not why did you get in, not even what’s your damage, just… that. Simple.

„No.” I lie. My stomach knots on cue. Betraying me. He smiles and the car slows, indicator clicking lazy and rhythmic. Macy’s Diner. The kind of place that hasn’t changed since the 80s. Neon buzzing weakly. Smells of grease and cheap coffee drift all the way to the car.

„My treat, little dove.” He says it like a challenge, pulling into a parking spot.

„What?”

„Food. You remember what that is, right? Come on. You’re starving and I’m not about to let you chew on your cheeks out of pride.” He kills the engine and leans back in his seat like this is normal. Like we are friends. I hesitate. Every instinct I have is screaming don’t trust him. But the other instinct? The one that remembers I haven’t eaten since yesterday? That one wins.

„Okay.” I mutter, voice flat. His lips twitch into that infuriating half-smile.

•

The bell above the door jingles. One of those weak, pathetic sounds meant to sound welcoming. The diner’s a time capsule, cracked red booths, flickering light panels, a waitress who looks like she’s survived six divorces and one alien abduction. The air smells like syrup, old grease, and burnt espresso. I hate it already. Fez doesn’t flinch. Of course not. He picks a booth near the window. Not too exposed. Not too tucked in. Like he’s done this before. Like he planned it down to the goddamn seating chart. Well, let's f.ucking see what he planned then. I slide in across from him, tug my hoodie sleeves over my palms. The vinyl squeaks beneath me and the waitress lumbers over, chewing gum and annoyed expression.

„What can I getcha?” Fez flashes her that crooked grin.

„Coffee. Black.”

„Figures…” I mutter under my breath. She turns to me.

„You?”

„Water.” I say. Because I’m not here to share warm beverages like we’re trauma-bonding over pumpkin spice. He leans back, watching me. That smirk? Still there. Like he knows something I don’t. Like I’m a riddle and he’s already solved half of it. I stare back. Flat. Unblinking. And inside?

What the f***k do you want? Who the hell even are you? One party and you think you know me? Think I’m some stray you can scoop up and patch together with cheap food and empty grins?

He doesn’t speak. Good. Because I’m two words away from grabbing a fork and jabbing it through his hand. So we sit there watching each other. It isn't uncomfortable to be honest. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t fill the silence with bullsh.it. Just studies me, measured, calculating, but not cruel. Like he’s trying to gauge whether I’ll let him speak or slit his throat for trying. Smart boy. I like that. His coffee arrives. He doesn’t touch it. Just wraps one hand around the mug like it anchors him to this moment. And then, softly, without blinking…

„You don’t owe me s.hit, Phoenix.” His voice is low. Calm. Threaded with something real. I don’t respond.

„You don’t owe anyone anything. Not an explanation. Not a truth. Not a goddamn smile.” He leans back slightly, his expression unreadable. „But I think you’ve been playing a losing game for a long time.” My eyes narrow.

„You think you know my life?” I snap, voice sharp, but he doesn’t flinch.

„No. I don’t.” His eyes don’t leave mine.

„And I’m not here to guess, either. I’m here to say this… if you want out of whatever the f***k they put you in, whatever trap they laid… ” He taps the table once, slowly.

„… I can open a door.” I stare. A door? The f***k does he mean by that?

„No pitch. No contracts. Just a deal. You walk through it if you want. Or don’t. But it’s your decision.” I laugh.

„A deal? You offering me a job or something dealer boy?” That crooked smile returns.

„I’m offering you money. Fast. Clean. No strings.” I raise a brow.

„What, you run a f.ucking mafia now?” He chuckles.

„Not a mafia. Just… business.” He shrugs once.

„You’re sharp. Young. Beautiful. Fast. You can move through crowds and leave without a trace. That’s valuable.” My tongue clicks against my teeth.

„So you want me to be your pet thief? Your little errand girl?” His smile fades. A flicker of something real passes over his face.

„I want you to be safe. In control. Paid.” He pauses. Then adds.

„I want you to walk into a room and know the power’s in your pocket. Not theirs.” The waitress drops off my water. I don’t touch it. Something cold and hot all at once sinks down my spine. This isn’t how people talk to me. Not without trying to f***k me, fix me, or cage me. This? This is different, but I’m not stupid.

„What’s the catch?” I whisper.

„You name your terms. You walk away if you want. No catch.” He holds my gaze. No catch? Just a boy with a cigarette-scorched voice offering me something I don’t recognise?

„Bulls.hit. No catch is usually the biggest one.” I mutter and he doesn’t argue. That's what I thought... The waitress swings by again.

„What’ll it be?” I blink, caught between fight and flight, but my mouth moves before I can stop it.

„Burger. Medium. No tomato.” My voice is flat. Automatic.

„And for you?” Fez doesn’t even glance at the menu.

„Steak. Medium-rare. Fries. No salad.” His tone is smooth. Familiar. Like he’s been in this booth a hundred times. She nods and walks off. I break first. Because f***k silence.

„So what’s your deal, dangerous-business-dealer-boy?” I ask, words sharp, almost playful.

„You just find broken girls and offer them ‘doors’ to walk through? Bulls.hit.” His lips twitch as I catch him off guard.

„Only the ones who look like they might burn the world down if someone gives them a better match.” He says calmly. f***k. I don’t look away.

„You looked like you were about to shatter at that party.” He adds, voice quieter now.

„But you didn’t. You held it. Like h.ell itself could’ve cracked and you still wouldn’t flinch. That’s not normal and that intrigued me.” He speaks in a slow smooth voice.

„Maybe I’m not normal.” He nods slowly.

„Exactly.” I don’t know what to say to that. So I glare instead. He leans back, eyes scanning my face like he’s got all the time in the world.

„You’ve got teeth, Phoenix. Real ones. And I think the world’s been trying to grind them down since the day you learned how to walk.” I blink once. Then twice. Because…f.uck.

There’s a weird warmth in my chest. One I don’t trust. One I didn’t ask for. And yet… he’s not wrong. The burger lands in front of me. Steak in front of him. Steam curls into the air, but I don’t touch the food yet. Neither does he. Because something’s happening here. And maybe, I don’t know… maybe I want to see where it goes. Maybe. I wrap my fingers around the edge of the plate. Warm. Real. My stomach growls like it finally believes I’m safe enough to feed it. Fez doesn’t push. He just watches me, one elbow propped, chin resting on his knuckles.

„You don’t trust easily, do you?” He says. Not accusing, just stating.

„No s.hit…” I mutter, picking at the fries. He smiles.

„I think it’s smart.” He says it like a compliment. I take a bite of the burger and I f.ucking love it. So much it almost makes me moan, but I don't, cause what the f***k?

„So what is this?” I ask, licking salt from my thumb.

„What’s the actual deal? Because you don’t strike me as a 'let’s-be-friends-over-fries' kinda guy.” His grin widens.

„I’m not..” He admits.

„But I am the kind of guy who makes offers.”

„Offers.” I say the word like it’s poison. I know this tone... contracts, favours and late-night choices that come with bruises.

„Nothing you don’t want.” He says calmly and cuts into his steak without breaking eye contact.

„I don’t corner people, Phoenix. I open doors. You decide if you walk through.” Okay, he’s good.

„You don’t know me…” I say again.

„Not yet.” He doesn’t flinch.

„But I read patterns. I follow whispers. And I watch.”

„That’s some creepy stalker s.hit…” I say flatly. He chuckles, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

„You’re good. Only proving my point.” He says.

„I’ll give you that. Calm on the outside. Eyes always scanning. Smile’s a blade and silence is a wall. You don’t let people close unless you’ve already mapped all exits. You flirt like it’s war and vanish before anyone knows your name.” I stare at him with fry paused halfway to my mouth.

„So what, you think I’m some broken little criminal with a tragic backstory and a sharp mouth?” I ask, dry.

„Well, aren't you?” He says. Quiet. Careful now.

„F.uck you.” I spit at him.

„Don’t get me wrong… I think you’re the best survivalist I’ve seen in years.”