“Hey! Mickey, Oh Mickey you’re so fine!”

You say it as a joke, tossing the words at him like a casual tease, but Mickey barely gives you a second to breathe before he’s grinning—wide, reckless, dangerous, as you lounge against the metal railing of the station. You don’t even look at him at first, just watching the neon signs flicker in the distance, the hum of machinery filling the silence between you.

But Mickey hears it. Of course, he does.

There’s a beat of quiet before he turns to you, grinning like you just handed him the best gift in the universe. His golden-brown eyes gleam with mischief as he tilts his head, stepping closer.

“I know, right?” He practically purrs it, all cocky confidence and sharp amusement. Then, without warning, he moves—fast. One second, he’s across the room; the next, he’s right in front of you, caging you against the nearest surface with that same smug look that spells nothing but trouble.

“But you should say it again,” he murmurs, tilting his head like he’s considering all the ways to ruin you. “Slower this time. Maybe sweeter, too.”