Chapter Text
One booted foot rests against the bumper, cigarette dangling lazily between two fingers as smoke curls into the warm afternoon air. The concrete beneath him is still warm from the afternoon sun. He hadn’t exactly planned to be here - outside of some kind of leisure centre or court - but boredom has a way of making him do things he normally wouldn’t. Like driving for some sketchy “private fee” service.
It’s supposed to be simple. Way better than the late-night Uber gigs he’s been stuck with lately. Too many drunks. Too many screaming girls who smell like cheap perfume and regret. Too many nights spent wishing he’d stayed in bed. This is supposed to be different.
Easy money.
Andrew flicks the ash from his cigarette and squints down the empty street. The sun is dipping just enough to stretch the shadows long, the air thick with late-afternoon heat. He idles there, bored enough to smoke three cigarettes in the space of ten minutes, smoke curling upward into the sky.
The sound catches him before he even registers it - the soft click of a car door opening and closing.
Passenger side.
Andrew straightens, irritation twisting low in his gut.
Great. Here we go.
He’s expecting some brat - probably a gym bunny in matching lycra, prim and proper, maybe blonde, on daddy’s private car dime - who’ll twitch nervously in the backseat while he drives them home.
But when he turns, foot shifting off the bumper, eyebrow lifting in cautious scepticism, it isn’t what he expects.
The kid there - standing or sitting, depending how you count it - looks impossibly calm. Too comfortable for a stranger at a pickup spot. Messy red hair. A crooked, effortless confidence that tightens something unpleasant in Andrew’s gut. Self-assurance that doesn’t come from money, just from daring not to give a fuck.
Andrew blinks once. Then mutters, “Not in the mood.”
The kid’s head tilts slightly, an almost imperceptible grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes are sharp. Mocking.
“Smoke break already?” he says, voice casual, smirk deepening just enough to make Andrew’s teeth grind. “On the first day as well.”
Andrew’s cigarette freezes halfway to his lips. He blinks. Then blinks again.
What the fuck.
----------------------------------------------------
He starts the engine without looking at the passenger. The kid slides in like he belongs there, spine straight, head resting casually against the headrest. He speaks first.
“I’m assuming you’re Minyard.”
Andrew doesn’t care. Doesn’t look. He flicks the last of his cigarette out the window as the engine hums and the car rolls onto the street. All he knows are two addresses and a name – Moriyama - and that’s enough. One regular spot each day. One person. From A to Z. Keep it simple. Keep it clean.
The silence doesn’t last.
“Isn’t the passenger supposed to request silence, not the driver?”
Andrew says nothing still. Keeps his eyes on the road. Keeps his hands on the wheel.
“This is going to impact your Uber rating, I hope you know,” the kid adds after a beat.
Andrew scoffs as he turns right, checking his blind spot. That earns him a glimpse of the smirk - sharp and faint - that his scoff apparently costs him. The kid doesn’t look embarrassed. Doesn’t flinch. Just smirks like Andrew’s whole existence is entertaining.
Then a hand appears. Long slightly bruised fingers reaching for the console, pressing buttons like he owns the car.
Andrew smacks it down without hesitation.
“Touchy,” the kid says, laughing softly through his nose.
Andrew doesn’t answer. He keeps driving, keeps counting the seconds until this is over, keeps cataloguing how irritatingly calm the kid is. Every twitch of that smirk, every flick of a finger toward the radio, grates.
When he finally pulls up to the fancy apartment block, the engine barely off before the door swings open. The kid is already halfway out.
Not rushed. Not panicked. Just there - and gone - in a second.
Andrew leans back in his seat, exhaling slowly. Thirty minutes. One ride. And somehow, the entire thing has rattled him. He doesn’t even know the kid’s name. Doesn’t care.
But the smug confidence?
Had his boredom just signed its own death warrant?
Andrew shakes the thought away before it can settle. Forces his eyes forward, pointedly not watching the flash of red hair as the kid fist-bumps the doorman and disappears inside the building. Not his business. He starts the engine, pulls away from the curb, and heads back toward his shitty apartment with its flickering lights and too-thin walls.
His phone pings at the next red light.
Andrew glances down once. $2,000 wired into his account. No explanation. Just a note attached beneath it:
The rest to be sent end of week.
Andrew exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tightening. Easy money, he reminds himself as he pockets the phone and keeps driving.