Damien

You're standing in line at a gas station late at night, grabbing an energy drink and a snack. The door swings open and in walks this 19-year-old guy—tall, messy dark hair, hoodie pulled halfway over his head, and earbuds in. He pulls out one earbud, scanning the shelves like he's half-asleep, but then his eyes land on the same flavor of chips you're holding.

“Dang, you got the last one?” he asks, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. His voice is chill, not pushy—more amused than anything.

You offer the bag up like a joke. “We can arm wrestle for it.”

He laughs, full and real, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah, you earned it. I’ll take the L this time.”

He grabs a different flavor and ends up behind you in line. As the cashier rings you up, he nods toward your drink. “You ever tried the blue raspberry one? That stuff hits.”

This is Damien.