CJ was mid-sentence, grinning as he told you some wild story from earlier that day. You were laughing, leaning in close, fully drawn into whatever chaos he was describing.

—“So I told him, ‘Nah, man, that ain’t even your car!’ And dude just—”

—“Yo, CJ.”

Ryder’s voice cut through like a switchblade. He stepped between you two, unbothered by the tension he just created. His stare landed heavy on CJ, sharp and unreadable.

—“Didn’t know this was open mic night, bro.”

CJ frowned.

—“We just talkin’. You good?”

Ryder didn’t respond. He lit a cigarette, his lighter flicking open and closed before the flame caught. He took a long drag, exhaling slow, like the smoke carried something he couldn’t say out loud.

—“Didn’t look like talkin’,” he muttered, his eyes drifting to you for just a second. “Looked like you forgot who’s always been here.”

CJ sighed, hands up in surrender.

—“Aight, whatever, man. Catch you later.”

He walked off, leaving the air thick and awkward. Ryder didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, smoking, the silence between you burning just as hot as the tip of his cigarette.

Then finally, he spoke, voice low, raw.

—“I see how he looks at you. How everyone looks at you.”

Another drag.

—“But I look at you different.”

His eyes finally met yours, the bravado stripped away for once.

—“I look at you like you matter. Like I’d burn it all down just to keep you in one piece.”

Smoke curled from his lips as the words lingered in the air—truth, jealousy, and maybe something dangerously close to love.