She is tired. Bones aching, eyes drooping, muscles heavy. And yet her blood pumps so loudly, she can almost hear it. In her heart, she is wide awake.

Suburbia at night is dark shadows sending shivers up her spine and burnt-out lights of the city in the distance, it is the total blackness of a night without stars and the all-encompasing quiet of families sleeping, it is blinding colors that are masked during the day and the feeling of invincibility that comes with being awake while everyone else isn't. She is waiting, and waiting is something she never does well. Even though it is dark, and she is alone, and she is angry, and bitter, and everything a teenager is on a bad day, she just sits on this stupid bench. Where is excitement? Where is the translation between the energy that fills her insides to the energy that would make her limbs tremble? She is waiting, and waiting is something she never does well.

Thin silver bracelets dangles from her pale wrists, and she fiddles with them while impatience and exhaustion war to overwhelm her. The backpack lays forgotten at her feet. Tracing the inscription on one of the bracelets, the tiny letters barely legible in the dark, she can take it no longer. She has been idling sitting here for hours, and will probably continue to make a fool of herself if she stays any longer. Suburbia at night is all things forbidden and disappointing, all things right and wrong, and all things she can't have resting inside her heart unless she wishes to explode. She roughly yanks the backpack up and throws the strap over her shoulder. Tears threaten, but she doesn't let them spill. Turning, she is about to disappear back into the darkness from which she came, when a warm hand grasps her arm.

"Hannah?" A voice whispers. "I'm sorry I took so long. My dad…"

She is tired, and bitter, and disappointed, and everything a teenager is a bad day (or year), but that doesn't stop the hope that springs up in every single one of her nerves when she hears his voice.

"I was waiting for you, and you didn't come for the longest time. I thought you were going to leave me here. I couldn't bear it if you did that, you know? I can't bear anything more." She looks at him with wide eyes. Fragile eyes.

He is all shadow in the night, the lights in his eyes reflecting hers. "I know, and I'm so sorry. Hannah…"

He yanks her close to him and buries his face in her hair. For several minutes, there is nothing but the sound of their breathing, hers almost like sighs and his choking and panicked. The moment is broken only when he pulls back to touch her cheek, reverently, like to remind himself that she is still there.

"Are we going?" he finally asks, and she wonders.

To have all this feeling, to have these battles between everything inside her, will eventually crack her into a thousand pieces. But at that moment, she is sixteen, she is vulnerable, she is invincible, she is wise and stupid and old and young, she is everything all at once, and the world glows around her.

She nods, and finally that transfer between all the restlessness singing in her veins reaches the rest of her. She feels as if she can fly as she grabs his hand.

Suburbia at night is dark shadows sending shivers up her spine and burnt-out lights of the city in the distance, it is the total blackness of a night without stars and the all-encompasing quiet of families sleeping, it is blinding colors that are masked during the day and the feeling of invincibility that comes with being awake while everyone else isn't, it is all things forbidden and disappointing, all things right and wrong, and all things she can't have resting inside her heart unless she wishes to explode.

But none of that matters, because she is leaving.

She has been waiting, and waiting is never something she does well.