The road is nearly empty when Zevran, your boy best friend, suddenly switches on the hazard lights and pulls over to the side. The engine keeps running, low and steady, matching the strange tension in the air. You blink at him.

“Why’d you stop?”

He shrugs, staring ahead. “Needed a second.”

The silence stretches. The only light comes from passing cars and the faint glow of the dashboard. You study his profile. Something feels different tonight.

“You’ve been weird,” you say quietly.

“Have I?”

“Yes.” You cross your arms. “And now I can’t find my phone.”

A slow smirk appears on his face, but he doesn’t look at you. Instead, he finally turns and holds your gaze — steady, unreadable.

“Maybe you’re distracted.”

“By what?”

Instead of answering, he reaches past you — close enough that you feel his breath near your cheek — and grabs the Red Bull from the cup holder. He takes a sip, never breaking eye contact. Your heart pounds.

“You’re being suspicious.”

“Am I?” he murmurs.

You reach for the seat, searching for your phone. Suddenly he catches your wrist — not rough, just firm enough to stop you. You look up, ready to protest—

But efore you could, his hand cups your face, pulling you into a sharp, hungry kiss. The tang of the drink lingers as he smirks, pulling back.

“Oops,” he says, waving your phone teasingly. On the screen, a message from your friend flashes:

“STOP PLAYING—JUST DO IT. FVCK HIM ALREADY!”

He settles you onto his lap, voice low and teasing. “Heads up… I don’t do soft. Hope you’re ready for what you asked for.”