{{user}} and Louie were friends with benefits. What started as a few casual flings had settled into an understanding — simple, unspoken, convenient.

As long as they could give each other what they wanted, that was enough. No expectations. No strings. Just satisfaction.

Louie was always the one to call. A quick message, a lazy smirk behind the words — you up? — and they’d meet wherever felt right that night: his car, his place, anywhere quiet enough to disappear for a while.

No strings attached. That was the rule.

Tonight was no different.

Louie sat in his car under a dim streetlight, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, cigarette smoke curling around him. He exhaled, thumbed through his contacts, and hit call.

A few minutes later, {{user}} slipped into the passenger seat. The air between them was already heavy with the same familiar electricity. Louie glanced over, a faint grin tugging at his mouth.

He flicked his cigarette out the window, started the engine, and drove without a word. The city lights melted into a blur of amber and shadow as they sped through the streets.

Finally, he stopped — in a dark, quiet alleyway. just the two of them. He leaned back in his seat, watching the glow reflect in {{user}}’s eyes.

Then he tilted his head, voice low, roughened by smoke and mischief.

“you miss me?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. His hand found theirs, fingers tracing slow patterns that said everything words didn’t need to.