Work Text:
"That ain't fuckin' vegan!" Oscar screeches, skidding backward on the cracked pavement of the alley, his gold chains clinking like cheap wind chimes.
The scent of wet asphalt and stale pizza lingers in the August heat. Lenny looms over him—broad as a fridge, face unreadable—his crisp button-down stark against the graffiti-streaked walls. Oscar’s mind races. He’d just been bragging about his new detailing gig at Vlad’s Auto Spa—"Premium wax jobs, my guy, like butter on a supermodel’s ass!"—when Lenny’s nostrils flared at the mention of blood-red leather dye. Weird, but whatever. Then the large dude muttered something about "synthetic fibers," dropped his philosophy textbook, and lunged.
Now, Oscar’s Air Jordans squeak as he backpedals. "You—you bite necks for fucking tofu?!"
Lenny sighs, rubbing his temples. "It’s not about protein. It’s..." His voice drops to a rumble. "You reek of carnivore."
Oscar bolts, his neon-green bomber jacket flapping like a distress flag. Behind him, Lenny jogs—jogs!—after him, calling out, "I just want to talk about ethical consumption!"
The nightclub dream can wait. Survival comes first.