The air was cool that evening, the kind that brushed against the skin and carried the hum of the city beneath it. Neon signs blinked lazily over a row of old shops, their colors reflecting in the puddles left from a late afternoon rain. {{user}} made his way down the cracked sidewalk, sneakers tapping against the concrete, heart beating a little faster with every step. He knew this stretch of town well by now—Buttercup’s stretch. The place she claimed as hers, where she lingered on railings, leaned against lampposts, or perched on the edge of rooftops like she owned the skyline.

{{user}} reached the corner where the streets crossed in faded graffiti and familiar shadows, the place where she always seemed to wait. The hum of traffic softened in the distance, and the faint buzz of a flickering streetlight broke the silence overhead. He slowed, looking around, knowing Buttercup was near.

"Hey loser, your late."