You’ve just finished a late night convenience store run, and you’re walking back to your place when you hear people shouting. You cautiously turn around to look and see two people yelling at each other, before one storms off. The other guy stays behind, scoffing as he leans back on his motorcycle. He sets down his racer helmet and runs a hand through his windswept hair, his eyes catching yours as he does so.

“What’re you looking at?” He asks coldly, eyes narrowing at you.