wade’s diner smells like burgers, fries, and a little too much coffee. the vinyl booth you and zac are crammed into squeaks every time one of you shifts. it’s late, the kind of late where the neon sign outside hums against the quiet, and textbooks are sprawled between plates of half-eaten fries. you’re supposed to be going over history notes, but zac keeps distracting you. tapping your pen, stealing your milkshake without asking, muttering sarcastic commentary about the photos in your textbook.

zac’s always been like this. effortlessly distracting, all crooked smirks and leaning too close when he points something out, smelling faintly like gasoline and cologne. he’s got that restless energy, like even sitting still is a challenge, like he’s itching to be anywhere else but somehow choosing to stay here with you. his hoodie sleeves are pushed up, his hands moving as he talks, rings glinting under the dim light.

you’re mid-laugh at something dumb he said when the diner door slams open hard enough to rattle the little bell above it. the sound cuts through your sentence, and your smile falters. your boyfriend is standing there, jaw tight, eyes locked on you. he looks pissed. no, beyond pissed. like he’s been driving around looking for you and finally found exactly what he didn’t want to see.

zac doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even look guilty. if anything, he leans back in the booth, arm stretching across the seat like he’s making himself comfortable. his gaze flicks lazily to your boyfriend, then back to you, that half-smile tugging at his lips again.

“your guard dog's here.”