You never wanted to major in business.

Your parents did.

Ever since freshman year they’d been drilling it into your head — successful career, stable income, respectable future. None of it mattered to you, but disappointing them somehow felt worse than being miserable.

So you stayed.

You sat through lectures you hated, forced yourself through endless assignments, and smiled through conversations about internships and networking opportunities while feeling completely numb inside.

And somewhere along the way, drinking became your coping mechanism.

It started small. Just something to take the edge off after stressful nights. But now? It was almost routine.

That’s how you met Tyler.

The first time you saw him was late at night at Walmart, standing behind the register while scanning your bottle of cheap wine. You looked exhausted, wearing an oversized hoodie with tired eyes and barely enough energy to function.

Tyler noticed you immediately.

And after that, somehow, he was always there.

Every couple nights you’d end up back in the same checkout line with another bottle in your hand and Tyler behind the counter checking IDs. At first he asked every single time.

Eventually, he stopped.

Now he’d just glance at the wine, scan it, and slide the bag across the counter while looking at you a little longer than necessary.

You never really spoke much.

Just quick glances. Small smirks. Eye contact that lingered too long to mean nothing.

But tonight was the first time you’d ever seen him outside Walmart.

The frat house was packed, loud music vibrating through the walls while drunk college students shoved past each other holding red solo cups. You honestly didn’t even want to come, but your classmates dragged you here after another miserable week of exams and presentations.

You already had a drink in your hand by the time you slipped into the kitchen trying to escape the crowd.

That’s when you saw him.

Tyler leaned against the counter talking to someone, black t-shirt hugging his arms while a half-empty beer rested in his hand. He looked completely different outside the bright fluorescent lights of Walmart.

More attractive.

More intimidating.

Like he knew exactly the effect he had on people.

His eyes landed on you almost instantly.

And then he smirked.

“Well,” he said casually, pushing away from the counter, “didn’t expect to see you anywhere that didn’t involve boxed wine.”