The urge that takes her when she spots him must have been spawned by hell. She hates the idea immediately. Why him? Why now? She's already hours behind schedule and there's plenty to do in the time she has left before the 2nd semester begins.
Her first glance is from a distance; from here, she can see his clothes are cleaner than any homeless hitchhiker's might be. His shirt is just the right kind of material and those jeans are just baggy enough to shape his hips. As she draws closer, she realizes her eyes aren't playing tricks on her. His hair really is white. But, it contrasts perfectly with his dark skin...
She rolls her eyes, scoffing at herself. Any sane person would just continue driving. And yet, she pulls over.
He doesn't look up as Yamuraiha slows to a crawl. Her car rolls up beside him on the roadside. She rolls her window down.
"Hey!"
Nothing. Yamu spies cords hanging from his ears. Who wears earbuds while hitchhiking?
"Hey!" This time she honks her horn. The driver of a passing car gives her a sideways look and she blushes.
He's getting farther away... She raises her hand to honk again, suddenly regrets her decision to pull over, and is about to drive away when-
-he looks up. His eyes are the color of emeralds and Yamu huffs. Surely a hot guy wandering on the roadside in the middle of nowhere must be a serial killer.
"Hi..." He pulls the buds from his ears and makes his way – slowly– back to her car. His eyes sparkle for just a second when he rests his arms on her windowsill, sees her face. "Got room for troubled soul?"
Instead, she snorts. "How lame. Where are you headed?"
He smirks as he straightens up, shoving both hands into his pockets.
"I don't know where I'm going. Just...wandering, y'know?" There's that smile again, for just a second before it's eclipsed by something darker. "But I don't think I'm going home."
Yamu blinks a few times. There's a nagging in the back of her mind that promises, that urges: she knows him. She runs through her mental directory of faces from home, faces from school, faces of the male models Pisti messages her every day. Nothing.
She sighs.
"I'm on my way to the city. I'll drop you off."
And just like that, he's in the passenger seat. Yamu pulls back onto the highway and it's several miles before either of them speak.
"What's your name?" he asks suddenly, flipping off the radio.
Yamu frowns. "Manners dictate you should introduce yourself before asking someone to do the same."
"Alright. I'm Sharrkan." Another pang runs through her. He doesn't seem to notice. "Now you."
"Yamuraiha." She says, glancing at him. His face goes blank for just a second before he turns to the window.
"Pretty."
Yamuraiha can't help it now; she's racking every inch of her brain, searching for anything. Maybe he's the son of a friend of her foster father's. Maybe he's a new transfer student with no money for a car. Or maybe… Yamu shakes her head, erasing Pisti's lecture about past lives and genetic memory from her mind.
Still, she can't help asking. "Where are you from?"
"Doesn't matter."
"Any family?"
"Couple brothers...you?"
She hesitates.
"None." Yamu shakes her head. "You're a little old to be a runaway. I bet your brothers would like to know where you are."
Sharrkan laughs under his breath and smiles over at her. "I'll check in tomorrow if I'm not dead before then."
"Are you insinuating that I'm one of those crazies that kidnaps hitchhikers just to murder them?" Yamu almost screeches, clutching the wheel tighter.
"I bet you thought I was some kind of serial killer before you picked me up."
She would hang her head if her eyes weren't glued to the road. "Guilty as charged."
Peripherally, she can see him staring at her. He opens his mouth to speak, stops for a moment, and then opens it again. "If you were so worried, why'd you pick me up?"
"I wonder…"
"What?"
"N-nothing." Yamu stammers, realizing she'd actually spoken out loud. "If you thought I might be a murderer, why did you get in my car?"
His reply sounds far away and slightly poetic, like something he'd heard in a song. "I'm on the road to ruin, starting at the end."
"Idiot."
"Who's an idiot?" he demands, launching forward in his seat, and Yamu laughs without thinking. It feels so familiar, like an old routine. After a moment, he chuckles too and they spend the next few hours talking idly.
Sharrkan's charming, in a corny way, and Yamu catches his eyes lingering a couple times. Her heart stirs, craving, but she shoves the feeling down. That's no way to treat a man she's just met, and especially not one she picked up on the side of the highway. She keeps those thoughts in mind as time passes and they grow fonder of each other, miles rolling by.
It's starting to get dark when he suddenly confesses: "You're beautiful, you know."
She almost swerves off the road. "What?" Chancing a glance over at him, she sees him shrug plainly, leaning back in his seat.
"Hasn't anyone ever told you that before?"
Sharrkan waits but doesn't get the answer he wants. He sits up slowly, places his hand over hers on the steering wheel. Yamu ignores him as he begins to describe her in every way he can, from how beautiful her hair is and how perfect her skin... Finally, she pushes his hand away and, flustered, demands to know what's wrong with him. To suddenly come on to a complete stranger...
It takes her several more miles to form an appropriate response. By now, it's completely dark and she's considering pulling into a rest stop for the night, dumping this freeloader right there.
"Please don't patronize me."
"I wasn't."
"You were. You are."
After a moment, he shrugs again and she swears she hears him mutter under his breath...something about others loving him more when his heart's broken.
Her eyes widen just a little. It hurts to think he's serious. It hurts to even consider they have any history; they don't. They can't.
An exit sign flashes into view: REST STOP AHEAD.
"Do you wanna feel beautiful?"
"Come again?"
He leans forward and, completely serious, asks her to spend the night with him. "Let's be alone together."
Yamu flushes. She's sure her face is completely red. Why would she ever?
"Do you always hit on women you've just met?"
"Never," he answers simply. "Besides…you're different."
They're both quiet again. Yamu concentrates on the road. After a few minutes of this, Sharrkan rummages through his backpack and pulls out a small square of shiny plastic.
"Think of it like a toll."
"I should have left you on the side of the road, idiot." Those are her words, but her heart is beating so fast it might rip free. The urge is still there…she takes the next exit.
Yamu's face is still hot when her car pulls into the darkest corner of the rest stop. She can't quite believe what she's doing. The demon possessing her better judgment doesn't argue against it as they relocate to the back seat.
At some point, he whispers a few more lines that sound like something from a song. We could stay young forever. She doesn't mind. He's gentle and lovely; the pay is fair. Rapid exhalations become a cloud between them, fogging the windows and warming their flushed faces. She doesn't speak, too embarrassed to give anything but non-verbal ques with small sounds mixed in. He smiles the entire time (or at least he does each time she chances a glance), moving to her rhythm until finally...
Yamu makes the rest of the drive by herself, allowing her stowaway to sleep in the back seat. They barely speak. When she drops him off, there's just his smile, a nice wave as she drives away, one last pang in her chest as he disappears.
The next day, once she's safe in her dorm room, Pisti asks her how vacation was, did her drive back go smoothly, how's the family. Yamu contemplates telling the truth, but after a moment answers with the standard "good; how was yours?"
Pisti puffs up, feeling there's something Yamu isn't telling her. But instead of demanding she spill the beans, the smaller girl plows on, retelling every bit of her holiday escapades while Yamu smiles and nods. She tries to concentrate on her roommate's voice and not the memory of Sharrkan's sighing and clipped tones in her ear.
Pisti doesn't seem to notice the three times Yamu loses focus and blushes fiercely.
In the end, Yamu never does tell her story, simply keeping the entire event to herself. However; she also never finds a good explanation for the white hairs Pisti finds stuck to her sweater and littering the back seat of her car.