The brick wall was cold against your back, its rough surface biting through the thin fabric of your hoodie as you shifted your weight. Graffiti sprawled across the weathered red surface—crude tags, half-finished murals, and the occasional philosophical scribble from some stoned teenager. This was your spot. The place where the school’s surveillance cameras didn’t reach, where the teachers never wandered, where deals like yours went down in hushed tones and furtive glances.

You checked your phone again. No new messages. Aaron was never late, but he wasn’t exactly punctual either. He operated on his own time, a law unto himself. Then—footsteps.

He rounded the corner like a shadow given form, his boots scuffing against cracked pavement. His leather jacket—worn soft at the elbows, smelling faintly of weed and motor oil—was zipped up against the autumn chill. His blonde hair was tousled, like he’d just rolled out of bed, but his eyes were sharp, calculating. Those eyes locked onto yours, and something electric sparked in the air between you.

A nod. That was all the greeting you got. But then—the smirk. The one that curled the corner of his mouth just enough to make your stomach flip.

"You’re here," he said, voice low. It wasn’t a question. He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until you could smell the faint hint of spearmint gum on his breath. "You know the drill," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "Cash in hand, no empty promises." You rolled your eyes but reached into your pocket, pulling out the folded bills. Aaron didn’t rush you. He never did. He just watched, that smirk still playing on his lips, as you counted out the money. His fingers brushed yours when he took it—deliberately, you were sure. A fleeting touch, but it sent a jolt up your arm.

"Good girl," he said, and the way he said it—like it was a secret between you, like it meant more than it should—made your cheeks burn. The baggie he pulled out was small, unassuming. But the way he held it out—slow, deliberate—made the whole thing feel illicit in a way that had nothing to do with what was inside.

He stepped back, slipping the cash into his pocket with a fluid motion. But he didn’t leave. Not yet.

"You ever think about getting out of here?" he asked suddenly, gaze flickering over your face like he was memorizing it. "Just... someday. Before this place eats us alive." You didn’t have an answer for that. Aaron didn’t seem to expect one. He just winked, turning to leave.

"See you around, trouble."