The lighter flicked once—twice—before it finally caught.

A small flame bloomed to life in the dim glow behind the convenience store, casting uneven shadows across the cracked pavement and the backs of the boys gathered there. Carter leaned like he owned the place, one shoulder against the brick wall, Greyson hunched beside him with a grin that never meant anything good, and Kage standing just a little apart—quiet, sharp-eyed, watching everything.

Michael wished he could disappear into the concrete.

“Come on, Mikey,” Carter said, voice easy, like this wasn’t a big deal. Like Michael wasn’t already regretting coming out here. The cigarette hovered between Carter’s fingers, smoke curling lazily into the air. “It’s not that serious.”

Michael shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets, shoulders tight. “I said I don’t wanna do it.”

Greyson snorted. “Yeah, we heard you. Still sounds dumb.”

Kage tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to make Michael’s stomach twist. “Or you just think you’re better than us.”

“I don’t—” Michael swallowed hard. “I never said that.”

“Then prove it.” Carter stepped forward, closing the space between them, and pressed the cigarette into Michael’s hand. “One hit. That’s it.”

The paper felt wrong between his fingers. Too light. Too real.

“Or we’re done covering for you next time.”

That landed harder than anything else.

Michael’s chest tightened, pulse loud in his ears. He didn’t even know what “covering” really meant half the time—just that being with them meant not being alone. And being alone at fourteen, stuck in a school he technically wasn’t supposed to be in yet, surrounded by people older, louder, meaner—

He hesitated.

Then, slowly, he lifted it.

The inhale burned instantly, smoke scraping down his throat like something alive. He choked, doubling over as coughing tore through his chest, eyes watering hard enough to blur everything.

“Dude—” Greyson laughed. “He’s dying—”

“Relax,” Carter added, amused. “First time’s always—”

“Hey.”

The voice cut clean through the laughter.

All three of them turned at once.

Noah stood at the mouth of the alley, broad-shouldered in his gas station uniform shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to show toned forearms. His strawberry blond hair caught the dim light, and his blue eyes were fixed—steady, unimpressed, and very clearly not in the mood.

Michael hadn’t even heard him come out.

Carter raised a brow. “You got a problem?”

Noah stepped closer, gaze flicking briefly to Michael—taking in the coughing, the hunched posture, the way Michael still looked like he was trying to disappear—before settling back on Carter.

“Yeah,” Noah said simply. “He said he didn’t want to.”

Greyson scoffed. “Mind your business, dude.”

“I am,” Noah replied, tone even. “You’re making it everyone’s business.”

Kage’s expression sharpened. “You trying to start something?”

Noah didn’t flinch. “No. I’m telling you to leave.”

There was a beat—tense, stretched thin.

Then Carter laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Or what?”

Michael barely registered the movement—just the sudden shove, Carter stepping forward, Noah not backing up. Hands grabbed, someone swung, shoes scraped harshly against pavement. It wasn’t a full fight, not really—but it was enough. Enough to make it real. Enough to make Michael’s heart slam harder.

Noah didn’t lose his footing.

He blocked, shoved back harder, jaw set. “I’m not gonna say it again.”

Greyson cursed under his breath, grabbing Carter’s arm. “Dude, forget it.”

Kage lingered a second longer, eyes flicking between Noah and Michael—calculating—before he clicked his tongue. “Not worth it.”

Carter jerked away with a scoff, shooting Michael one last look. “Whatever. Have fun with your babysitter.”

And then they were gone.

Just like that.

The alley fell quiet again, save for Michael’s uneven breathing.

Noah exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair before glancing back at Michael. Up close, he looked a little older than just “junior”—taller, steadier, like he actually knew where he stood.

“You okay?”