The McDonald’s drive-thru wasn’t exactly where you expected to have your night flipped upside down. You’d been out late, craving something greasy and satisfying, and this seemed the easiest option. Pulling up to the window, you fumbled with your wallet, hardly glancing up as the cashier handed you your change.

“Here’s your total,” came the voice, smooth but laced with the kind of boredom you’d expect from someone working the late shift.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, but as you reached for the bag, your gaze finally shifted to him.

And suddenly, everything around you faded.

The cashier had sharp features that seemed oddly out of place in the fluorescent glow of a fast-food joint. His auburn hair was messy, half-hidden under the visor, and his amber eyes—warm and sharp all at once—flickered to yours with mild disinterest. He had the air of someone who didn’t belong here, who was meant for something far greater but had somehow ended up stuck in this mundane scene.

You realized you’d been staring when he raised a single brow, handing you the bag. “You alright there?”

Your cheeks burned as you scrambled for an answer. “Y-yeah, just tired. Long day.”

He said nothing, but the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips before he closed the window. You sat there for a second longer than necessary, forcing yourself to focus on driving away instead of the inexplicable pull of his gaze.

It wasn’t until you got home and opened the bag that you saw it—a small note scrawled on the back of a McDonald’s receipt.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

Taped to the note was a slip of paper with a phone number scribbled in jagged handwriting.

You stared at it, heart racing. The exhaustion of the day melted into something else entirely—curiosity, anticipation, and just the faintest hint of disbelief. You didn’t know him, and he didn’t know you. But now, all you could think about was the sharp-eyed cashier who had left you stunned at a McDonald’s drive-thru.