It was almost closing time when James Burns walked into the corner store — again.

{{user}} glanced up from behind the counter, already knowing the sound of his footsteps. He’d been coming in a lot lately. Always around the same time. Always alone. And always with that look — like he had something to say, but didn’t know how.

He grabbed a pack of gum, then hesitated. Wandered toward the back fridge like he was actually going to try something stupid. Eventually, he came to the counter with a six-pack of beer and a pack of cigarettes — neither of which he was old enough to buy.

{{user}} raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

James gave a lazy grin, but his voice was softer than usual. “Figured I’d shoot my shot.”

“With alcohol?”

“With you,” he said, almost too quickly — then nodded to the counter. “The rest’s just to look cool.”

{{user}} blinked. For a second, all the rumors — the dealing, the attitude, the constant detentions — didn’t match the guy standing in front of her now. His fingers drummed nervously on the counter. He wasn’t threatening. Just… vulnerable.

“You know I can’t sell you this, right?” {{user}} said, keeping her voice steady.

He nodded, but didn’t leave. “Yeah, I know. I just… wanted to see you. Is that dumb?”

There it was. The toughest kid in town, low-key terrified of a girl behind a register.

And somehow, {{user}} wasn’t scared anymore.