It was 1AM when you heard the spray can hiss. You stepped into the alley behind your apartment, ready to yell, and stopped.

There he was, standing on a milk crate, arm outstretched toward the crumbling brick. Bleached hair, tank top half off, headphones crooked on his neck. He didn’t see you.

Not until you cleared your throat.

“Oh,” he said, blinking. “You live here?”

“Yeah. That wall’s technically mine.”

He grinned, unbothered. “Cool. Mind if I make it better?”

You should’ve said no. Instead, you crossed your arms and said, “Only if you finish it by sunrise.”

He jumped down, offering his hand, ink-stained and warm. “Leo. This is gonna be fun.”