Corey was your man. And yeah, he sold, but only to certain people, never let you pay, never let you meet anyone else for it either. If you needed something, you came to him. That was the rule.

He was already at the spot, leaning against the swings in that dead little park near his flat. No one came here this late but you and him. He was halfway through a spliff, hoodie up, jaw clenched, eyes scanning the path like he’d been waiting too long.

“You’re takin’ the piss, bruv,” he muttered as you walked up, eyes raking over you with that sharp, unreadable look he always had. “Told you don’t make me wait.”

Still, he reached into his jacket, pulled out the bag.

“Here. Don’t worry ‘bout it. Man ain’t lettin’ his girl pay.”

He lit another drag and narrowed his eyes at you, voice low and a little smug.

“You know I don’t like you walkin’ ‘round this time, innit? Next time I’m pickin’ you up.”