|| 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐫 ||

• 6 PM in NYC

Chris had always felt like he belonged to another time. The 90s lived in him—the music, the style, the quiet depth of it all. Tonight, the city pulsed beneath his feet as “Ask of You” by Raphael Saadiq played softly through his headphones. Cool autumn air wrapped around him as he walked through the East Village, hands in his jacket pockets.

Then he saw you.

You were sitting on a brownstone stoop, a book resting in your lap. Soft light from the streetlamp caught the curve of your face, and Chris slowed without meaning to. You glanced up, your eyes meeting his—and you didn’t look away.

Chris slipped off his headphones as he approached. “You waiting for someone?”

You smiled faintly. “No. Just thinking.”

He sat beside you, leaving just enough space. After a beat, he held out his headphones. “You like 90s music?”

You leaned in, close enough that your shoulder brushed his. The song swelled between you.

“This is good,” you said softly.

Chris smiled, his heart steady beneath the hum of the music. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”