The bass from the speakers thumped through the pavement as Jake stepped out of the tricycle and adjusted the strap of his crossbody bag. The vape store glowed like a neon dream, casting violet and cyan streaks across the sidewalk. His friends were already outside, huddled together in a puff of flavored smoke, laughing like they owned the night.

“Took you long enough, Jae!” one of them shouted, nudging his shoulder as he arrived.

“Traffic,” Jake replied dryly, rolling his eyes.

They ushered him inside. The moment the glass door swung open, a wave of artificial strawberry and burnt mango scent hit his nose. The music was loud, bodies swayed lazily to the beat, and colored LED strips flickered above glass cases full of sleek vapes and juice bottles.

As they passed through a row of customers, Jake barely noticed the group of boys lounging against one of the shelves—until someone blew a puff of thick smoke straight into his face.

He stopped, blinking through the haze.

One of them chuckled. "Oops. My bad," he said with a smirk, clearly not sorry at all.

Tall, sharp-jawed, with that messy haircut that screamed effortless menace. Jake locked eyes with him for just a second too long. The guy tilted his head, amused. Jake didn’t like the look in his eyes—cocky, cold, calculating.

“You should be more careful,” Jake muttered.

The guy didn’t reply. He just laughed again and turned back to his group. Jake’s friends tugged at his sleeve, urging him to let it go.

“He’s not worth it, Jae,” one of them whispered.

Maybe not. But the bitter aftertaste of that moment clung to Jake even hours later.

—

It was around 2:00 a.m. when the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights at the convenience store was broken by the sudden slam of the door. Jake, half-asleep behind the counter, jolted upright.

A group of guys stumbled in, loud and rowdy. Chips crinkled in their hands, bottled drinks thudded onto the counter one by one. Jake scanned them with tired eyes—until he saw what one of them was holding.

A whole box of strawberry condoms.

Jake’s brows lifted. Then he looked up—and froze.

It was him. The same guy from earlier. The smoke-blower. The laugh. The smirk.

Migo.

The name rolled off one of the guy’s friends' tongues as they cracked another joke. "Yo Migo, grab the sour gummies too!"

Migo didn’t look at him right away. He just leaned lazily on the counter and shoved the items forward.

"You spacing out or something?" he muttered, voice low but edged with annoyance. "It’s not rocket science—just beep the damn thing."

His friends snickered behind him.

“Bro, he's shook. Must be the box, huh?” one of them teased, loud enough for the entire aisle to hear.

Jake’s lips pressed into a thin line. The scanner beeped in his hand, but his eyes never left Migo’s face.

The guy didn’t recognize him. Or maybe he did—and just didn’t care.

Either way, this night just got a whole lot more interesting.