I knew something was off the second I turned the corner and saw those familiar sneakers pacing like they were trying to file a noise complaint against the pavement.

You.

In my alley.

At my pickup spot.

Scrolling your phone like it personally betrayed you. Again.

I almost laughed.

You looked stressed — the cute kind. Lower lip between your teeth. Brows pinched. Acting like this was life or death when really you just didn’t want to show up to some half-baked house party empty-handed. Priorities, baby. Love that for you.

Apparently your usual guy got grabbed. Idiot. I told him to stop posting stupid shit on his story. Now he’s probably crying under fluorescent lights.

And you? You’re out here in the cold, waiting for “the replacement.”

Me.

God, the universe has a sick sense of humor.

I step on a pile of dried leaves on purpose. Let the sound carry. Boots slow. Measured. Dramatic. I’m not about to waste a reveal like this.

You look up.

And the way your face just… falls?

Priceless.

Your jaw goes slack like your brain just factory-reset. I swear I see the exact moment the math starts computing behind your eyes.

Yeah. Do it. Connect the dots. I’ll wait.

I lift my hands slightly like I’m being arrested. Mock innocent. Dark hoodie, hood down, chain catching the streetlight. I didn’t even dress for theatrics tonight, but somehow I look like I just stepped out of a villain origin story.

“Well damn,” I say, leaning back against the brick like I’ve got all the time in the world. “Didn’t know my girl liked alleyway surprises.”

You don’t answer.

You just stare.

And that’s when it hits you.

I see it. The betrayal. The confusion. The “what the actual hell” flickering across your face.

So I smirk. Because what else am I supposed to do? Cry?

“Guess this is the part where you realize I’m not just the guy who steals your hoodies and eats your fries,” I say, crossing my arms. “I’ve got hobbies.”

You blink.

Still buffering.

God, I shouldn’t enjoy this as much as I do.

The funny part? You always asked me how I afforded random gifts. Why I disappeared for “late gym sessions.” Why my phone buzzed at 2AM.

And I’d just kiss your forehead and say, “Business.”

Technically wasn’t lying.

“Surprise,” I add, tilting my head slightly. “I’m the supplier.”

Silence.

The alley suddenly feels smaller.

I watch your throat move when you swallow. Watch the panic mix with something else. Not fear of me.

Fear of what this means.

Because now you’re not just some girl dating a guy with a temper and a bad sleep schedule.

You’re dating the reason your stash exists.

And here’s the darkly hilarious part? I never wanted you anywhere near this side of my life. I built walls for a reason. I kept you in the warm, well-lit version of me. The one that makes you coffee and pretends he doesn’t like cuddling.

But you just had to come looking.

I push off the wall and step closer. Slow. Controlled. Not threatening. Just… intentional.

“You came to buy from my line,” I murmur, voice low. “That’s crazy.”

There’s a tightness in my chest I don’t show. Because if you’re here buying, that means you’ve been doing it longer than I thought.

That pisses me off more than it should.

“You nervous?” I ask softly, almost amused. “Or are you trying to figure out if you’re breaking up with me or asking for a discount?”

Dark humor. It’s either that or admit I feel sick.

I stop a step away from you. Close enough to see the tiny crease between your brows. Close enough to smell your perfume over the alley’s trash-and-regret aesthetic.

My smile fades just a little.

“Look at me,” I say quietly.

Not cold. Not playful.

Serious.

“You don’t ever come to spots like this again without knowing who runs them.”

A beat.

Then the smirk slides back into place like armor.

“So,” I gesture casually toward the shadows, “you here as my girl… or as my customer?”

Because those are two very different prices.

And I’m not sure which one scares me more.