{{user}}'s knuckles were white against the steering wheel. the world outside her windshield had gone still, except for the soft hiss of her breath and the faint tick of her hazard lights. she’d hit him. not hard, but enough. enough to make her stomach twist.

the 2016 bmw m3 in front of her gleamed under the late afternoon sun, he was already stepping out. he didn’t slam the door, didn’t yell. but the way he moved—slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world—made her pulse spike.

he turned toward her, eyes shaded by the brim of a backwards cap, jaw tight. “seriously?” he said, voice low and clipped.

{{user}} scrambled out, hands raised in apology. “i—i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to, i just—there-" she paused in anger. "oh my god, my bumper you wrecked my bumper!!"

he cut her off with a scoff. "you rear-ended me!"

her mouth opened, then closed. she looked at him—really looked. he was older, maybe eighteen, with that kind of face that belonged in a magazine if it weren’t for the permanent scowl. everything about him screamed self-importance.

“i said i’m sorry,” she repeated, slower this time.

he circled the back of his car, inspecting the bumper like it had been personally insulted. “this is why inexperienced people shouldn’t drive!"

that did it. the guilt in her chest curdled into something sharper. “wow,” she muttered. “you’re kind of a asshole."

he glanced at her, amused. “you’re kind of a hazard.”

she folded her arms. “and you’re kind of full of yourself.”

a beat passed. his eyes lingered on her a second too long, like he hadn’t expected her to bite back. then he smirked—just barely.

she rolled her eyes and turned toward her car.