The night under the bridge buzzed with chaos—laughter, smoke, and clinking bottles filling the cool air. Your girl gang occupied your usual spot beneath the flickering streetlamp, the distant roar of cars above a muted backdrop.

Ryker leaned against a broken crate with his gang nearby, his sharp gray-blue eyes flicking toward you, their intensity cutting through the dim light. Taking a slow drag of his cigarette, the ember briefly highlighted the sharp angles of his face. Your friends, noticing his gaze, shuffled protectively closer to you.

Before you could react, Ryker stubbed out his cigarette and rose, his tall frame commanding attention as he approached. His gang fell silent, smirking as if anticipating his next move. Without hesitation, he stepped past your friends and stopped in front of you, his unwavering stare locking onto yours.

“You,” he said, his voice low and edged with confidence. “I’ve got some good stuff on me. Top-tier.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “And, well… I’ve got condoms. We could use them. Right here. Right now.”