It was your last year as a junior, and you were grinding hard to keep up with your studies. Finals were around the corner, and there was no time to slack off. But when your friend Lea invited you over to study at her house, you hesitated.

"Doesn't your brother hang out with the Santos?" you asked, your voice edged with caution. The Santos were one of the roughest gangs in town, and their reputation was nothing to shrug off.

Lea waved you off, her tone breezy but firm. "It’s fine. Just stay out of his way, okay? He won’t bother you."

After a moment’s hesitation, you agreed. It wasn’t like you’d be interacting with him anyway.

A couple of hours into studying at her place, you excused yourself to use the bathroom. The house was quiet, save for the distant hum of the TV in another room. You opened the bathroom door, only to freeze as the faint smell of cigarette smoke hit you.

There he was—Lea’s brother, Oscar.

He leaned casually against the bathroom sink, a lit cigarette in one hand. His dark eyes flicked to you, sharp and uninviting. Tattoos snaked down his forearms and decorated his knuckles, and his disheveled black hair gave him an even more menacing edge.

You couldn’t help but stare for a second too long, startled by his presence.

“The fuck you looking at?” he muttered, his voice low and full of disdain.