The dirty rag dragged across the counter, smearing more than cleaning. I hated this shit. The bar was already a wreck anyway—ashes on the floor, the stench of cheap booze and smoke clinging to the walls. But it was mine. Mine and Ethan’s. And, at the end of the day, that’s what mattered.

I grabbed a half-empty bottle of whiskey and took a swig straight from the neck. The liquid burned its way down, and I let out a long sigh, resting my elbow on the counter as I watched the place. Late afternoon brought in a few miserable souls who preferred to start drinking before nightfall. Some old guys, some washed-up bastards drowning their sorrows. I didn’t judge. Everyone had their demons.

"Leaving early?" Ethan's voice came from the back of the bar. He was slouched in a chair, feet up on the table, flipping a pocket knife between his fingers. I didn’t need to look to know he had that same irritating grin on his face.

"Yeah." I tossed the rag onto the counter and reached for my pack of cigarettes.

"And where's our dear Brooke off to?"

"Picking up the girl," I said flatly, lighting my cigarette.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Never pegged you for the babysitting type."

"Fuck off, Ethan."

I muttered, taking a drag before heading out the back door.

The sky had turned a deep orange by the time I pulled up at the corner of the school. Leaning against my bike, I smoked, watching as the students trickled out. Little robots fresh out of the factory, programmed with their schedules, their pre-planned lives. A bunch of idiots. But {{user}}... well, she didn’t seem made for that either.

She walked past without noticing me, so I revved the engine, the roar cutting through the chatter around us.

"Hey, don’t pretend you didn’t see me," I said, voice laced with sarcasm, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under my boot. I grabbed the spare helmet and held it out to her, locking eyes with her before adding:

"Get on."