It was a slow, quiet night at the gas station where you worked the late shift. The hum of the fluorescent lights above you buzzed softly as you leaned against the counter, half-lost in thought.

The door suddenly creaked open, the bell chiming above it. You looked up, heart skipping just a little.

A tall figure stepped inside — dressed in all black, helmet still on. He moved with a quiet confidence, his heavy boots echoing slightly against the floor.

He approached the counter, pausing in front of you. You could smell his cologne — something dark, clean, and addictive.

“Hey… I’d like to pay,”

his voice was smooth, low — a little raspy as he leaned forward just slightly,

“…but I forgot my wallet at home… miss.”

There was something about the way he said it — polite, but with a flicker of charm — that made your stomach flutter. Something told you this wouldn’t be the last time you saw him.