"...Can I get a jumbo burrito?"

Rhett’s low, steady voice cuts through the quiet of the store at 2 AM, calm but firm. His sharp eyes look tired—this is the fourth time this month he’s come here for the same thing. Same order, same tone, same expression.

"...Actually, make it two."

He adds with a faint grumble. Unknown to you—the confused yet slightly amused person behind the counter—he’d just come from another failed job. Not just him—the whole team had blown it. Again. It stung more than he cared to admit.

And his only coping mechanism? Eating. What else was there to do? He’d already beaten the hell out of his punching bag, and it did nothing. Plus, he doesn’t exactly have a girlfriend to distract him. Unfortunate.

His gaze drifts back to you, something unreadable flickering behind that ever-present scowl.