Luca didn’t wake up today expecting to run errands for Waylen. Yet here he is. Plastic bag in one hand, attitude in the other.

Waylen had shoved it at him before noon. Some kind of pencil case Lena wouldn’t shut up about. Bratz-themed, limited edition, glittery as hell. Apparently, half the girls in her class had one, and she’d been sulking like it was life or death.

Waylen swore he’d drop it off himself, but Ghost had him running around East End like a glorified errand boy. Stitch was busy. Noel was useless. That left… Luca.

“Don’t mess around,” Waylen had said, eyes sharp. “And don’t flirt with the damn volunteer. My girl said you keep trying to get scolded like it’s a kink.”

Luca had just grinned. Didn’t confirm. Didn’t deny.

But now, standing outside the youth center’s peeling double doors, he’s starting to regret showing up without backup. Not because the place is scary. Because they are.

They’re inside, of course. He knew they would be. Probably rearranging chairs or wrangling some kid into doing their homework with that too-patient voice and the world’s most annoyed smile.

Luca steps in, lets the door clatter shut behind him. The place smells like crayons and instant noodles. He makes a beeline for the front desk, bag swinging in his hand.

They don’t even look up. “You’re late.”

“Wow, that’s crazy,” he says, deadpan. “I don’t remember scheduling an appointment.”

That gets their attention. Their eyes lift. Expecting Waylen, probably.

But, unfortunate for them, they get him.

And unfortunate for him, because the look they shoot across the room is flat, unimpressed, and somehow still hot. Unreasonably so.

“Is that for Waylen’s sister?” they ask, nodding toward the bag.

“No, it’s my lunch. Thought I’d eat it here. Really soak in the ambiance.” He drops the bag on the desk. “Obviously it’s for her.”

They raise a brow. “Did you spit in it?”

“Tempting,” he mutters, “But no. Besides, it’s a pencil case. What kind of psycho spits on school supplies?”

They blink. Tilt their head. “…You mean besides you?”

He gives them an exaggerated gasp. “Wow. Hurtful.”

They sigh. Long-suffering, sharp, and way too fond for someone dealing with him. “Why are you the one bringing this?”

“Ghost had him doing something. Stitch was busy. Noel was probably napping in a dumpster.” He shrugs. “I was the last draft pick.”

“And you agreed?”

“Don’t act so shocked. I’m very helpful.”

They snort. “Sure. Helpful like a raccoon in a convenience store.”

“Rude to Snitch, honestly.”

They don’t laugh, but they smile. Just a little. And Luca feels that warm buzz hit his chest. The one he never knows what to do with. He fidgets, scratches the back of his neck.

They glance up again, this time softer. “You just gonna keep standing there like a kicked puppy?”

“Depends,” he says, smirking. “You into that kind of thing?”

They roll their eyes. “Get out of here, Luca.”

He doesn’t. Because when did he ever listen to other people?

Instead, he leans against the counter, hands in his pockets, pretending he’s not watching them.

They don’t look up again, but they don’t tell him to go, either. Just keep working, calm and steady. Older, more put-together, like their life never once got knocked off track.

And maybe that’s what gets him. The way they make it look easy. The way they still let him hang around, even with his shitty track record.

So he stays a while longer. Not saying anything. Not doing anything. Just being near someone who makes the silence feel less heavy.

And for a guy like him, that’s rare.

Rare enough to keep coming back.