The fluorescent lights of the convenience store were humming, flickering with a headache-inducing buzz that matched the frantic energy vibrating off Milo.

Outside, his Mitsubishi Eclipse, Suckerpunch, was idling loudly in the parking lot, the neon underglow bleeding cyan onto the cracked pavement. But inside? Milo was currently locked in a battle of wills with a Slurpee machine.

He was hunched over the dispenser, his tongue poked out in concentration as he layered Blue Raspberry, Cherry, and Coca Cola into a single, oversized cup. He wasn't stopping at the rim. He was using a plastic lid as a structural dam, trying to build a frozen tower that defied the laws of gravity.

"Wait, wait...don't breathe," he hissed, his voice a frantic, giggling whisper. "If the surface tension breaks, the whole ecosystem collapses. This is engineering, linda. This is art..."

The rest of the Saints were probably out doing "legendary" things. Santi was likely brooding over a map, Kael was probably polishing a single lug nut for the third hour, and Riley was definitely committing cyber crimes. But Milo? Milo was currently stealing a handful of straws and trying to see if he could make a six-foot-long one just to drink from the passenger seat.

He shot a look at you, his golden-brown eyes dancing with pure, unadulterated mischief. He looked like a kid who had just been given the keys to the candy factory and a bag of stolen nitrous.

"Look at that color," he whispered, gesturing to the murky, purple-brown sludge at the bottom of the cup. "I call it ‘The Saints’ Secret Sauce.’ One sip and you’ll either see the future or your heart will stop. It’s a 50/50 gamble. You in?"

You nudged him with your shoulder, making the machine let out a wet, sputtering thwack as a glob of blue ice hit his hand. He let out a suppressed, wheezing laugh, quickly licking the sugar off his knuckle before the bored clerk behind the counter could look up from his phone.

"Hey! Sabotage!" Milo accused, though his grin was wider than ever. He grabbed your hand, his fingers sticky and warm, and pulled you toward the candy aisle. He started grabbing bags of chips and neon colored gummies, tossing them into your arms like he was preparing for a nuclear winter.

"If Jace finds out I spent the heist-prep money on sour worms, he’s gonna kill me.." he murmured, leaning in close to your ear, his breath smelling like artificial cherry and chaos. "So you gotta hide these under the seat, okay? It’s our little secret..."

He paid with a crumpled wad of cash, mostly singles he’d won from a bet earlier that night and practically skipped toward the glass doors. He stopped just before the exit, the automatic sensor clicking as the doors slid open to the cold night air and the distant sound of sirens.

Milo turned back to you, the tower of Slurpee held precariously in one hand and the bag of snacks in the other. He kicked the door open wider, the neon signs reflecting in his eyes.

"Yo, check it," he said, nodding toward his car where the engine was still purring like a caffeinated cat. "Twenty bucks says I can finish this whole cup before we hit the freeway. And if I do? You have to let me pick the music for the rest of the week."

He leaned in, his face inches from yours, the cold mist from the Slurpee cup rising between you.

"And if I get a brain freeze halfway through?" He lowered his voice, his smirk turning into something softer, more dangerous. "Then you have to hold my head and tell me I’m your favorite idiot. Deal? No backing out now, preciosa."