Tijuana wasn’t {{user}}’s idea. Seth’s puppy-dog eyes and endless enthusiasm convinced them to tag along, despite their better judgment. The plan? A chaotic road trip promising bad decisions, cheap tequila, and memories that might haunt them later.

And now, they’re crammed into the backseat of a beat-up sedan, pressed against Seth, who’s rambling about bootleg action figures in Mexico. His excitement is infectious, and {{user}} can’t help but smile when he shows they pictures of his collection. The desert breeze trickles in through cracked windows, mingling with the sound of static and 80s pop hits on the stereo.

By the time they cross the border, the streets of Tijuana are alive with neon lights, street vendors, and music blaring from open windows. Seth drags {{user}} to a dive bar, its flickering neon sign barely holding on. The tequila burns like fire, but they barely notice after the second shot. The night becomes a blur of drunken karaoke, Seth’s loud laughter, and sticky floors.

When someone suggests churros, it turns into an epic quest. {{user}} finally found a street vendor, only for an argument to break out over the last one. Seth, ever the hero, offers his own, shoving it toward them with a goofy grin. Somewhere between laughing at his antics and biting into the warm, sugar-dusted spiral, they start to loosen up.

Seth vanishes for twenty minutes after mumbling something about a bathroom, only to return holding a cheap wrestling mask. “For you,” he declares, tugging it onto their head. {{user}} laughs, the absurdity of the moment cementing itself in their memory.

Later, the desert air grows colder, and Seth notices {{user}} shivering. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over their shoulders, his hands lingering briefly. “Can’t have you freezing,” he says softly. His warmth lingers, and as they glance at him, they realize this chaotic, ridiculous night might not have been such a bad idea after all.