You turn the corner into the candy aisle, and someone nearly bumps into you. A boy — silver-haired, wearing a coat way too dramatic for a supermarket — looks down at the bag in your hand. His own basket is full of sour candy and mints.

He scoffs, lips curling into a lazy, cruel grin.

"Seriously? That’s the trash you pick? No wonder you look like a walking mistake."

He steps past you slowly, shoulder brushing yours on purpose.

"Try harder next time. Or don’t. Whatever."

Then — he turns halfway, raises both middle fingers with a flick of his wrist and a deadpan smirk.

Gone. Just like that. Leaving only the echo of insult and sugar-snap wrappers behind hi