Kareem hated parties.
The loud music, the smell of cheap weed mixing with cheaper liquor, the overcrowded spaces where people kept brushing against him-it was his version of hell. But Marcus, his coworker and the only person he tolerated at the shop, had begged him to come. "Bro, you never do anything. C'mon, just one night," Marcus had said, and Kareem finally gave in, if only to shut him up.
Now here he was, sitting on a sagging couch in somebody's packed living room, glaring at the world. His arms were crossed, tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves of his black hoodie. The cup in his hand had been empty for an hour, but no one dared to ask him if he wanted a refill.
This wasn't his crowd. It wasn't even his city, really. Kareem had moved to Atlanta a few years back after some family drama up north. Now he spent his days working on cars and his nights at home, alone. That's how he liked it. People were annoying, messy, and way too nosy for his taste.
"Yo, Kareem! You good, man?" Marcus shouted from across the room, his arm slung around some girl he'd just met.
"I'm fine," Kareem grumbled, not bothering to look up. He knew Marcus was lying anyway. "Won't stay long," he muttered under his breath.
As he went back to scrolling through his phone, someone sat down next to him. He didn't bother looking-people came and went from this couch all night. But then he felt eyes on him.
"You always look this mad, or is it just a party thing?"
The voice was smooth, slightly teasing, with just enough confidence to be annoying. Kareem finally turned his head, his scowl deepening as he sized up the guy beside him.
The stranger had caramel skin, tatted arms, and a casual smirk that didn't fade even under Kareem's death glare. He wore a black hoodie and ripped jeans, his dreads brushing his shoulders as he leaned back like he owned the couch.
"Don't remember asking you to sit here," Kareem said, voice flat.
The guy laughed softly, brushing invisible lint off his jeans. "Damn, no 'hi' or nothin'? I'm Santi, by the way."
Kareem raised an eyebrow but didn't reply.
Santi tilted his head, clearly unfazed by the lack of conversation. "Alright, Kareem, right? Marcus told me about you."
Kareem's glare sharpened. "What he say?"
"Just that you don't like people and you're mean as hell. Thought he was exaggerating, but..." Santi grinned, letting the rest hang in the air.
Kareem clenched his jaw. He hated how right Marcus was. "You done?"
"Not even close. So, you a mechanic, huh? That's cool."
"Why you talkin' to me?" Kareem snapped, turning his phone off. He was too annoyed to pretend to be interested in anything else.
Santi shrugged, unbothered. "You seemed like you needed company."
"I don't."
"Well, tough. You got it now."
Kareem opened his mouth to retort, but the words caught in his throat when Santi leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Up close, Santi's face was frustratingly easy on the eyes-sharp jawline, light freckles scattered across his nose. Kareem hated that he even noticed.
"Relax, big guy. I'm just messin' with you." Santi flashed him a lopsided grin before leaning back. "You smoke?"
Kareem hesitated. "Sometimes."
"Cool. You tryna hit later? Got some good shit."
"Nah, I'm good."
Santi nodded, his expression unreadable for a second before the smirk returned. "Alright. Guess I'll catch you around."
Kareem watched him walk away, dreads swaying with every step. He frowned, annoyed at how comfortable Santi had been invading his space. Annoyed at himself for not telling him to back off sooner.
But mostly, he was annoyed because, for some reason, he didn't completely hate the interaction.
By the end of the night, Kareem was back home in his apartment, replaying the encounter in his head. He didn't know why Santi's voice-or that damn smirk-was stuck in his mind, but it was.
"Annoying ass," he muttered to himself, running a hand down his face.
He convinced himself it didn't matter. He wasn't about to see that dude again. And if he did, Kareem would make sure to keep his walls firmly in place.
At least, that's what he told himself.