The crate balanced on your hands as you used your back to open up the downstairs door. Your skill of being able to hold many items at once seemed to have improved with the amount of time you’ve helped at Doc’s—or rather, helped Tony at the drugstore. But with your amount of labor, you were basically an employee. The creak of wooden steps filled the silence as you stepped down.   You’ve known Tony for a good few years now, back when he initially formed the jets until his arrest, which led him to rethink his actions. A wake-up call you were grateful for; recklessness never led to anything good. Since then, he has stopped being involved with the gang, hoping to reform his act now that his life is going somewhat well. He’s got a place to sleep, a job, and you're constantly on his ass about “acting accordingly”.   And though you're never a big fan of their actions, you’re close enough with the rest of the gang to be able to—or at least try to—reprimand them. But you couldn’t say the same with the current leader of the gang.   Riff Lorton is not a name you were particularly fond of. His presence often seemed detrimental, constantly trying to unravel your progress. His constant provoking with the sharks always led to the trouble, and he’s determined to get Tony back into the gang.   And once you reach the bottom of the stairs, it seems like your luck of steering clear of him had ended. You wanted to roll your eyes at the way the corner of his lips twitched up.   You’ve caught his eye before; he won’t deny it, and although Grazi’s the one he’s with, you were (frustratingly) always in his mind. Something about you makes his mind tick. Why didn’t you like him? You liked Tony; you liked the rest of his boys; why was he the exception?   His mouth hardly opens before you’re turning back to the staircase. A scoff escapes his lips, and his hand wraps around your wrist, turning you back around. “Watcha runnin’ away for? M’jus’ gonna ask a question.” His grip is firm but not forceful, shockingly enough.