/Leo/
The second I sank into the car seat, the scene I'd just left behind swallowed my thoughts whole. I barely registered someone calling my name. The memory kept looping in my mind, refusing to let go.
Then—pinch.
A sharp jab to my side, snapped me back to reality.
"Hey!"
Raven's voice cut through my mental fog like a blade. "Where have you been? And why is the takeout still in your hand?"
His questions helped reality click back into place—along with the ridiculousness of what just happened.
"I asked you to do one thing," he snapped. "And this is what you bring me?"
"I did what you asked," I shot back. "I went to house number 102 like you said, but—"
"102? Are you kidding me?" His voice went up an octave. "It was house number 101, Leo. One. Zero. One."
His anger was heating up like a microwave burrito.
"I get it, you're the freshly minted CEO now, all rich and relaxed, but some of us," he pointed at himself with flair, "still have to hustle for a living."
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," I muttered, trying to calm him down. "You didn't say it clearly. How's that my fault?"
"Give me your damn phone."
He yanked it, opened our chat, and read it aloud in the most theatrical tone possible:
"HOUSE NUMBER 102. AVENUE ROAD."
I snatched the phone back and squinted at the screen.
"…Right. I'm sorry."
"Oh, look at Mr. Millionaire." Raven rolled his eyes. "Pay for the takeout. I don't have time for this nonsense."
I paid—because fighting Raven was harder than facing Alex and Jake combined.
Once I started the car, silence settled in for about ten seconds.
"So what had you so zoned out when you got in?" he asked, eyeing me.
"Something… crazy happened."
I paused, trying to untangle the chaos in my head, then told him everything. The wrong door. The argument. The lie. The hand-holding. Jake.
Raven blinked.
"That is... too intense," he finally said.
Then, after a pause—
"You're definitely in a Wattpad story now." "So what are you going to do if he calls you?" Raven asked, shooting me a sideways glance.
"I told him not to," I replied coolly.
"Yeah, because people definitely follow directions in this kind of situation," he scoffed. "You two are definitely never seeing each other again. What else would I expect from you, dumbass?"
I rolled my eyes, but… he wasn't wrong.
Thinking ahead, it was true—we probably wouldn't see each other again. I was just the guy who got caught in someone else's mess. I did what needed to be done and walked away. That was it.
A few hours later, after some aimless driving and more Raven-level sarcasm, I dropped him off and headed to my own place. I parked in the garage, stepped out of the car—and immediately remembered that I had nothing to eat at home.
Groaning, I grabbed my keys, phone, and wallet and made my way to the nearest convenience store.
As I reached the door, I heard a voice.
Familiar... but not enough to place. One of those voices that pokes at your memory but doesn't quite light it up.
I ignored it and headed straight for the shelves. Grabbed the basics—snacks, some instant noodles, something that looked like food but probably wasn't.
I made my way to the checkout counter.
That's when I saw him.
Not clearly—just the back of someone at the register ahead of me. Something in his posture, the way his hand moved to pay—it tugged at a memory.
He finished his checkout and walked away. My turn.
But as the cashier started scanning my things, the figure came back.
And just as I reached out to grab my bag, so did he.
Our hands touched.
Paused.
Held.
I looked up—and there he was.
The boy from house number 102.
Jake.