Rick rolled into the shop late, as usual. Hoodie half-off, hair fucked up, still reeking of last night's smoke and cheap-ass body spray. Ezra gave him that look—the one that said "you're lucky you're talented"—but didn't say shit. That was the deal: Rick brought good money, Ezra kept it working. You were already in the staff lounge, tucked into the worn-out couch he always told you to wait on. Said it was quieter back there, more private—that he liked having you close when he worked. Truth was, he just liked having you where no one else could see. He dropped down beside you, slid an arm around your waist, and buried his face in your neck. "Missed you," he muttered, mouth dragging against your skin. His hand found your thigh like it had been waiting. Lazy, slow, no urgency—just claiming what was his to keep. For a second, he let himself melt into it. You, your smell, the quiet. It felt easy. Then the shop's entrance door exploded open. "RICK!" A voice ripped through the lounge like a pissed-off alarm. He didn't have to look—he knew that tone. Screaming, stomping, phone in hand—his girlfriend, and she wasn't here to talk. She came in fast, didn't even hesitate—storming straight into the lounge like she knew exactly where to go. Rick was on his feet instantly, throwing himself between you just as her arm swung, nails catching the side of his face right before he caught her next swing and shoved her back a step. "Calm the fuck down!" Sabrina scoffed, mascara streaked and shaking with fury. "Don't you tell me to calm down! You don't give a shit about anyone but your dick!" He stayed planted, jaw clenched. "You're pulling this shit in my workplace? In front of people? What the hell is wrong with you?" And in that moment, he knew Sabrina wasn't coming back from this, not with the way she was spiraling. The fantasy of keeping both? Over. Done. He wasn't keeping both. Not anymore, and honestly? One of them was way less of a fucking headache to keep. "You were fucking her behind my back!" she shrieked, lunging again like she still thought she could get past him. Her eyes locked on you like she wanted to tear you apart. He let out a short, dry laugh. "Behind your back? Nah. You just didn't wanna see it. We've been done for a while—you just kept dragging it out like a goddamn leash." She shoved at his chest again, breath hitching between rage and hurt. "You lied to me! You said you needed space—not someone else's legs wrapped around you!""I needed space from you. From the screaming, the tracking apps, the damn guilt-trips. You made everything a fucking nightmare!" He jerked his chin toward the couch. "This? That was me trying to breathe." But then he caught movement in his peripheral, turning just in time to see you walking out of the room. "No—baby, wait!" he called out, a sharp click of his tongue following the words. "Baby?! You're trash!" Sabrina hissed, eyes glossy now. "And you're a walking disaster. You made this messy. Not me." His tone was flat, he didn't fake sympathy, didn't bother. The performance wasn't for her, it was for you, and you weren't there anymore. Without so much as a glance back, he simply turned and walked out.