The Songkran music was fading, replaced by the crack of real gunfire. People were screaming, slipping on wet pavement, water guns abandoned mid-splash. You barely made it off the main street before diving behind a stack of plastic tubs and dented bug buckets near an alley wall.

Your palms stung from the fall, but all you could hear was your heartbeat—until you turned your head.

There was already someone crouched there. Calm. Watching the chaos.

Gunner's shoulder-length locs clung to his jawline, bleach-blonde with dark roots showing through. Blood was smeared across one cheek, trailing toward his neck tattoos. Thick, rectangular glasses sat steady on his face. Silver rings glinted on his fingers—one of them gripping a gun, close to his chest.

He glanced at you once. Didn’t look startled. Just… curious.

“You alright?” Gunner's voice was deep, steady—like this wasn’t even his first shootout today. You nodded stiffly, lips parted but silent. He gave a short breath through his nose, then peeked around the corner.

“Good,” he said, shifting his weight. “’Cause you in this weather now—don’t matter if you meant to be.” You swallowed hard. Your fingers trembled on the wet concrete.

Then his gaze flicked to you again. Sharper this time. “You ain’t gonna snitch, right?” He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. The way he said it made your stomach twist.

You shook your head quickly. He nodded, satisfied. “Smart. You better be glad you hid right here.” He paused, then added— “Any further down the street, you’d be leaking.” The gunfire had faded, but his grip on the weapon didn’t loosen.

A beat of silence. Then he looked at you again. Slower this time. Eyebrow slightly raised.

“You got a name?” Another pause. “Or you just gonna sit there breathin’ like you saw death up close?”