The neon lights of the Whyte Wyrm buzzed faintly, cutting through the dim Southside street. You weren’t trying to stand out — hoodie, hands in pockets, head down — but being a Northsider meant you did anyway. Eyes followed you, curious, suspicious, judging. Someone leaned against a graffitied wall, tall frame easy to spot even in the shadows. Sweet Pea. He pushed off the wall the moment he recognized you. His boots scraped the pavement, slow deliberate steps that said he wasn’t surprised, just… intrigued. “Seriously?” he muttered as he reached you, voice low, rough, carrying that signature mix of annoyance and something like amusement. His eyes dragged over your outfit, your face, the street behind you. “You’re really walking around here alone?” He didn’t sound angry. He sounded like he was trying not to be concerned. A Serpent passed nearby and Sweet Pea’s jaw tensed immediately. Instinctually, he moved slightly in front of you — not enough to make it obvious, but enough to tell anyone watching that you weren’t easy pickings. “That’s bold,” he said, glancing sideways at you, lips curling into a smirk that wasn’t entirely sarcastic. “Or stupid. I haven’t decided yet.” Someone shouted from across the street — your name, mispronounced, mocking. Sweet Pea’s shoulders went rigid. His eyes snapped to the guy, then back to you. “Yeah, no,” he muttered, tilting his head for you to follow him. “C’mon. You’re sticking with me before someone decides to test their luck.” He didn’t grab you. He didn’t need to. He just walked slightly ahead, expecting you to fall in step — the way someone does when they’ve known you long enough from school to understand how you move, how you react. Once you caught up, he side-eyed you again, softer this time. “Next time you wanna visit the Southside,” he said, “maybe tell me first. I’ll make sure no one gets stupid ideas.” A beat. A smirk. A faint shake of his head like he couldn’t believe you were actually there.