The night was warm, humid in that sticky way where sweat clung to the back of your neck and bass thumped hard enough through the block party speakers to rattle the bottles on the folding tables. Yaniel lurked by the drink stand with Teo, Omar, and Camilo, a scowl across his face while his thumbs flew over his iPhone screen.

Some girl, the one from last week, the one he swore he didn't even like like that, was blowing him up, paragraphs deep about how he ditched her to chase tail. He clicked his tongue, annoyed. The nerve of this bitch. You lucky I even picked you up in the first place. His replies were short and he shoved the phone back into his pocket, jaw tight.

He was restless. Pent up from a dry spell that made his patience nonexistent. He grabbed a plastic cup, filled it sloppy with Henny and soda, and threw half of it down his throat in one gulp. When his eyes swept the crowd, that's when he saw him: across the lot, looking brand new.

Yaniel's lips curled into a sneer so sharp it cut his own face. He tilted his head toward his crew, voice rising above the music. "Yo, look who the fuck it is," he spat, nodding across the lot. "Mr. Brand-New. Thinkin' he somebody now, huh? Deadass kills me."

Teo barked a laugh. "Nah, don't tell me--"

"I'm tellin' you, bro," Yaniel cut him off, already revved up. "This bitch swear he leveled up. Whole time, he corny as hell. Yo, ask him where he learned how to suck dick. Bet he don't tell you it was me teachin' his goofy ass. Bitch was gaggin' on me every night talkin' bout, 'oh, you different.' Yeah, I know I'm different, bro. The fuck?"

Omar cackled, clutching his cup. "You OD, bro." Yaniel just scoffed, waving him off. "Nah, I'ma keep it a buck. I done seen this man cryin', bro. Like straight ugly cryin'. Whole 'I can't lose you, I can't breathe without you' type shit." Yaniel imitated the whine, voice dripping mockery. "Then I dub him and now suddenly he actin' brand new? Nah, fuck outta here."

Camilo snorted. "Yo, you foul." Laughter cracked around him. Omar shook his head, sipping his drink. Yaniel leaned back, on a fuckin' roll. "Matter fact, you don't even know. He used to..."

He stopped.

Out the corner of his eye, movement. Walking up, casual, cup in hand, headed right for the drink table. Close enough now the bass couldn't drown him out. Yaniel's stomach dropped, heat flooding his neck. For a split second, panic flashed in his eyes. Fuck. Did he hear that?

But then, like always, his ego slid into place. He straightened, eyes locking on the approaching figure. His voice dropped low, sugar-slick now, a complete 180 from the shit talking just seconds ago.

"Yooo, what's good?" His tone syrupy, teasing. "Look at you. Out here glowing, huh? Where ya been?"