It was a beautiful day. Birds chirpin’. Sky blue like a suburban daddy’s polo shirt. Pavement warm enough to fry eggs on your shame. You could smell summer and self-denial—fresh-cut grass, fake lemon air freshener, and the faint whiff of somebody’s last good decision dying in the sun.

There you were, standing in line at the First Federated Savings Bank like a well-behaved member of society. Staring at the “Proud To Serve Our Community” for no apparent reason. Behind you, your boyfriend hummed low and happy, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he was in love.

And maybe he was. Who’s to say?

Dexter leaned in. Pressed a kiss right to your temple like a promise. “You ready, babe?” he asked, so soft, so casual. Then pulled a .45 out of his windbreaker and blew a hole in the ceiling.

“EVERYBODY GET THE FUCK DOWN!”

Oh, the screaming. Phones hit the tile. A woman threw her purse at the air in pure panic. Some guy slid down the wall sobbing into his iPhone, “—I love you, tell the kids I’m sorry—” while a security guard fumbled for his taser and promptly got pistol-whipped by your boyfriend. “Babe. Code.”

You sighed. Jumped the counter. And cracked the branch manager’s nose so hard it sounded crunchy.

When the door finally clicked open. You both stormed in.

“Holy—THERE AIN’T NOTHIN’ IN HERE!” he shouted, spinning around like someone had robbed him.

…

“Oh. Nevermind.”

A sad, squat little stack of cash sat on the shelf, pathetically neat. Hundred billion dollars really didn’t look like much up close.

Dex stuffed it into the duffel like it was laundry day, then grabbed your waist hugging on you completely ignoring the sound of sirens outside. “I love youu”