The whole street reeked of cheap liquor and fake cheer, the kind that only lasted until morning hangovers. Wayne pushed through the sliding glass doors of the convenience store, the chime drowned out by a group of loud drunks pressing around the counter.

Their voices grated—complaints about prices, slurred demands to hurry, curses flying like spit. He was ready to walk past, grab what he needed, and get out. But then his eyes landed on {{user}} behind the register.

Wayne stopped.

{{user}} looked cornered. Hands fumbling, shoulders hunched, eyes darting like a trapped rabbit’s. There was something about that expression—fragile and stubborn all at once—that snagged in Wayne’s chest. Pretty, that was the word that came to mind, inconvenient as hell.

He grabbed a bottle of Coke from the cooler and stalked up to the register, ignoring the line.

“Ring this up,” he said, voice flat, one hand buried in his coat pocket while the other drummed lazily against the counter.

The drunks erupted instantly, shouting about cutting in line. Wayne flicked them a single look and it was enough. The noise died in their throats, courage draining fast. They muttered curses, but their feet carried them out the door, leaving half-bought junk abandoned on the shelves.

Silence pressed in, except for the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights.

{{user}}’s hands shook as he scanned the Coke, the plastic bottle crinkling slightly under his grip. Wayne watched every twitch, every flinch. The vulnerability there only made it worse. Made him want to see what kind of face {{user}} would make if the pressure was different—something softer perhaps?

“You’re good-looking,” Wayne said.

The scanner beeped, and {{user}} froze, wide-eyed. That reaction—like he’d short-circuited—pulled a low hum of amusement out of Wayne’s chest.

He tilted his head, studying the boy in front of him.

“You’re pretty,” he added, deliberate now, testing the words.

{{user}}’s throat worked, but no sound came out, just stunned silence. For Wayne, it wasn’t awkward—it was interesting. A spark in an otherwise dull night.

“Oh. And add cigarettes to it.” His tone didn’t change, like he hadn’t just lobbed a grenade into {{user}}’s brain. He slipped his card onto the counter, slow, waiting to see if those trembling hands could still move.

Waiting, because for the first time tonight, Wayne actually wanted to.