Youthful Night

Title: Youthful Night
Author: all_depends 
Rating: G (PG at the most)
Pairing: Rydon
POV: First, Ryan's
Summary: Grocery shopping at night. Nothing could possibly go wrong.
Disclaimer: This isn't real. I don't own them. The story's mine, so don't steal it or I'll sue you!
Beta: onthewindowpane
Author Notes: Pay attention to "Pairing" and "POV."

Stepping back into the youthful night draws me away from the intense white lights that illuminate the spacious supermarket behind me. Now my view consists of a navy blue sky and street lamps all across the parking lot dispersing feeble lights directly toward the ground. I have also switched to an atmosphere that has a more natural type of coolness that comes mostly as a zephyr blowing on my face and bare arms, the air smelling fresh as I breathe it in. The sun has recently sunk beneath the earth, and along with it many people have abandoned the streets to stay at their respective homes.

Walking through this half-deserted parking lot with nothing more on my hands than a single plastic bag with my newly purchased items in it, I direct myself to my vehicle parked a few empty spaces away from the store entrance. I find my car and slide my fingers into my pocket to retrieve the keys that unlock the door. As soon as I am seated in front of the wheel, I pull the door shut on my left and extend my arm the opposite side to leave my bag on the passenger seat.

The moment I turn to my right, I am awfully disconcerted to find a very strange surprise inside my car. Behind the passenger seat, an intruder sleeps, leaning his head on the tinted window. I ponder hastily without capacity to process much logic, and wonder what could have driven such an irreverent young man, not much older or younger than I, to invade my personal property in this manner. Surely he did not intend to thieve from me, for this would make him an unconventional and inefficient criminal—and stupid, I need not say. But if not a criminal, who enters unannounced to automobiles pertaining to complete strangers? Who has the bravery necessary to make use of someone else's belongings and dream so restfully as if having such clean conscience and yet not a bit of respect or consideration?

These questions flash in and out of my mind, and I cannot think of anything more to do other than yell at the boy for his unscrupulousness. But the more I look at this man, the more I am drawn to his mere and unmoving image. His whole anatomy, illumed only by a glow from the dim lights and the moon, possesses a beguiling beauty adequate in a male. From his lean structure to the dark scraps of hair fallen upon his face, he has something quite attractive and impossible to resist. Not to mention his sleep helps his visage acquire an incredibly endearing expression.

Distracted, I even forget for a moment what my intentions were. But then I remember the circumstances presented, change my mind, and instead sit there looking at the mysterious person in my rear seat and think of the possibilities. It is better to act with rationality to an odd situation like this one.

My attempts at drawing an inference tell me that perhaps this stranger wanders the streets and has trouble finding a warm roof at night. Perhaps he is only hoping to get some rest in my car instead of lying on cold cement. I take a closer look at him, and his clean and decent aspect contradicts my thought. Or, maybe he is new to this type of life.

If shelter is what he needs, I would be a Good Samaritan to help him. I could offer him my house—much better than my car—for a night or so. I am certain he would appreciate even just one night of a comfortable bed and a proper dinner and breakfast. And I would treat myself with not only the satisfaction of helping a fellow citizen, but with the presence of an individual so pleasing to the eye.

But what if he is not an innocent, helpless boy? For all I know, he could be mentally sick. Perhaps by waking him up he will act violently and injure me. I pray I do not have in front of me a crazy man ready to attack as soon as he gains consciousness, for removing him from my vehicle would be a real challenge. I am not willing to confront that kind of trouble.

I ponder even more. What if he is intoxicated? I test my hypothesis by awkwardly pushing myself to the back seat to get closer to the sleeping man. I try to identify any smell of alcohol, but I seem to find none. All I achieve is to get significantly close to this figure that has magnetized my eyes to it from the beginning, and now I have carved in my memory not only his unforgettable face but his unforgettable scent as well. I am so near to him that the scarf hanging from my neck brushes against his uncovered arm. Afraid to interrupt his sleep, I push myself back into my driver seat, never taking off my sight from him.

It is difficult to believe that a person with such a sweet face would cause any harm to anyone. Relieved and re-encouraged by this idea, I decide that it is best to wake the boy up. Everything will be explained, and I am sure that there will be a very reasonable and simple explanation for his being inside my car.

I wish neither to be rude nor to create an embarrassing scene between the two of us, so I mince what I should say before I awake the man from his deep sleep. I glance around my car as I consider my words carefully; maybe I should ask who he is, how he managed to get inside, or why he would do such a thing. However, soon I come to realize that something about my car looks amiss. I notice that the cup holder has a thermo flask I do not recognize. At the other end of the windshield there is a sheet of blue paper with black ink that is absolutely not mine either. The truth strikes my head as I learn that I have mistaken this vehicle as mine. Looking out the window to my right, I locate my car parked right next to this one, empty as it should be.

I take back the plastic bag I had placed on the passenger seat and open the door as cautiously as possible, closing it later not as carefully due to the required slam. I walk to the other side of the car where mine awaits me, and I get inside. I look around, just in case.

My luck remained faithful to me; it was dark and solitary outside, and the driver of the car never arrived. No one but I is aware of the fool I made of myself. Still, I do not know whether I should be thankful or disappointed that the man inside the car never woke up to see me and will never know of my embarrassing mistake, of my curiosity and prying, of my existence itself.