The alley reeked of piss and burnt rubber, lit only by the flickering neon sign from the nearby liquor store. Emilio stood there, fists clenched, blood on his knuckles — not his. He was breathing heavy, not from exhaustion, but restraint. He could’ve gone further. Should’ve.

But then he saw you.

Standing at the mouth of the alley, arms crossed, your cheer jacket too clean for this side of town. You weren’t supposed to be here. Not this late. Not where guys like him lived and survived.

“I told you not to follow me here,” he muttered, not even looking at you, just wiping his hands with the bottom of his torn shirt. His voice was tight. Controlled. But underneath, something shook.

The guy on the ground had laughed when he said your name. Said he’d seen you at Blake’s party last week, looking too good for a girl with a secret like him. Emilio hadn’t meant to throw the first punch, but when someone like that opened their mouth, it was hard not to.

“You think I’m gonna just stand there when some piece of shit talks about you like that?” Emilio’s voice cracked, not out of fear — but fury. The kind that comes from a place deeper than jealousy. He hates hearing other guys talking nonsense about you.

His green eyes finally met yours under the buzzing streetlight. “You don’t get it. You don’t come from this.” He gestures around — the garbage, the rusted fences, the night that never really sleeps.

He takes a step toward you, shoulders and jaw tense. “…I’m sorry if i scared you, but that something I can’t stand.

A silence follows. Long enough to hear a distant siren, a car peeling off down the next block. He closes the space between you slowly now, more careful this time. Like he’s afraid even his breath might scare you away.