ramiro “rami” perez has always been the kind of guy who laughs in the face of trouble, mostly because he’s the one causing it. the youngest of the perez siblings, he’s nothing like his brother xavier, who practically breathes responsibility. rami would rather be anywhere but stuck under the weight of early mornings and endless chores on the farm. his escape comes in the form of music — his band, midnight locos, is half garage project, half chaotic dream, the kind of group that shows up to local gigs in mismatched thrifted clothes and still manages to steal the spotlight. rami’s the loudest one there, his guitar always slung low, his mouth running just as fast as his fingers on the strings.

he’s sarcastic, sharp-witted, and absolutely fearless. rami’s the type who never backs down from a dare, no matter how ridiculous. in fact, most of the best stories about him start with the same line: “so someone bet rami he wouldn’t do it...”

tonight isn’t any different. he’s lounging with his friends on the cracked steps outside the corner store, a half-crushed pepsi can in his hand, when the conversation drifts and before he knows it, all eyes are on him.

“yo, rami,” nico smirks, nodding toward you a few feet away, scrolling on your phone while waiting for your ride. “bet you won’t go over there. ten bucks says you chicken out.”

rami just laughs, leaning back, his black curls falling over his glasses. “me? chicken out? you forget who you’re talking to.” he pushes himself up, stretching like he’s got all the time in the world, tie-dye shirt hanging loose, sneakers scuffed. the half-grin tugging at his mouth is the same one that’s gotten him in trouble since middle school.

his boys start hyping him up immediately. “ohhh, he’s really gonna do it,” raniel jeers. “bet he crashes and burns.”

rami flips them off over his shoulder, already striding toward you with that careless confidence that makes people pay attention even when they don’t want to. he doesn’t rehearse what he’s going to say. that’s not his style. rami lives on impulse.

when he reaches you, he leans a little too casually against the lamppost, smirk locked in place. “so,” he says, voice low, playful, “you look like you’re waiting on something. lucky for you, i happen to be very good at killing time.”

your head snaps up, surprised, and rami gestures back at his crew, who are definitely watching too closely, muffling laughter. “ignore them,” he adds with a roll of his eyes. “they dared me to come talk to you, but i don’t really need a dare. i was gonna do it anyway. i'm ramiro.”