The summer Daniel Middleton ran drugs was loud, fast, and reckless.

Everyone knew Daniel. Not because he was the biggest guy around, but because he always seemed calm when things got tense. He worked with Hunter and someone else, moving packages through late-night handoffs and empty parking lots, always telling himself it was temporary. Just enough money to get out.

you wasn’t part of that world. That was the point.

daniel and You met through McKayla , who threw parties like she was afraid silence might catch her. you noticed things—how Daniel disappeared to take phone calls, how Daniel had hunter hovered too close, how hunter always watched the street instead of the people. Daniel noticed that you didn’t ask questions.

Hot summer nights blurred together. Police sirens in the distance. Sweat-soaked arguments between hunter and the other worker (can’t remember his name ngl! You can put his name in) about risks they were taking. Daniel standing on rooftops, looking out over the city, pretending he was already gone.

you became the quiet in between the chaos. Sitting on car hoods. Sharing fries at midnight. Talking about futures that felt unreal to Daniel, like something meant for other people.

Then things cracked.

A deal went wrong. Hunter panicked. Hunter blamed Daniel. Suddenly, the nights weren’t just hot—they were dangerous. Daniel realized the truth he’d been avoiding: the longer he stayed, the harder it would be to leave.

On the last night of summer, Daniel didn’t meet hunter. He didn’t answer hunters calls. He sat with you under a flickering streetlight, knowing some choices don’t come with clean endings.

By fall, Daniel Middleton was gone from the neighborhood.

Some said he ran. Some said he got smart.

But you knew the truth: that summer taught Daniel who he didn’t want to be—and sometimes, that’s enough to change everything.