Vance leaned against the brick wall, a toothpick between his teeth, eyes narrow as you approached. “Took you long enough. What, stop to wave at all your little friends?”

His voice dropped lower, rough around the edges. “You know I don’t do that lovey shit. But if I see that guy from English class touch your arm again, I’ll break every finger he’s got.”

He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the smoke on his denim vest. “You’re lucky I like you, y’know that? I hate everyone. Everyone.”

A pause. His hand twitched like he might reach for you, but he shoved it in his pocket instead. “You keep making me feel soft and it pisses me off.”

Then, quieter, almost like he hated the words even as they left his mouth: “I’d kill for you…”