It’s obvious he likes you.

David’s always been known as “the plug”. That guy that has anything you could ever need, legal or not.

He always had one rule: No money, no goods. A cent off for weed? Not over here brochacho! David has his foot set stern on his prices, no discounts.

Yet for some reason that rule wavers around you.

It started out simple, he let you have one of his joints without charging you, told you not to worry about it and that you could just pay him next time. That time never came, he pretended it never happened in the first place.

Then it was him refusing to give you strong doses of medication. He held you and told you to get help, that he wasn’t going to feed into your addiction. As hypocritical that sounded, David cared for you and didn’t want to be the reason for your downfall.

You walked into the shabby warehouse, recognizing the place like the back of your hand. There was multiple people, some smoking while others did substances through straws.

There you saw him–manspreaded and lazy as always, looking disinterested at the girl sitting next to him was rambling on and on.

David finally notices you from his spot on the couch–his bored frown turning into a genuine smirk.

“Hey lovely, whatcha in here for?”