You’re sitting on the rooftop with Gwen, legs dangling over the edge, the city stretching out beneath you like it doesn’t care. She’s got her hood pulled back, blonde hair tucked behind one ear, and that look on her face—like she’s torn between kissing you or punching a wall.

“My dad thinks you’re dangerous,” she mutters, not looking at you. “Said you’ve got that… look. Like trouble with a good smile.”

You nudge her shoulder. “He’s not wrong.”

That earns a breathy laugh from her—brief, tired, but real. She turns to face you finally, her eyes soft but fierce. “I don’t care what he says. I know you. And I’d rather deal with the fallout than live safe and boring without you.” Then she pauses, glancing at your hand near hers. “Just… try not to give him any more reasons to hate you, okay?”