—

They were all at a sleepover, sprawled across the floor with blankets and pillows pushed together like it was unplanned but familiar. Finney sat with his back against the couch, half-watching, half-listening. Gwen was cross-legged nearby. Bruce leaned forward every time something got interesting. Robin stayed a little apart, arms folded, pretending not to care.

There was history in the room.

Robin and her had been… something. Not official. Not named. Just late nights, close bodies, a few make-out sessions that went further than they probably should have. They almost crossed a line once—almost—but stopped. After that, it stayed in that space where it was more than friends and less than anything real.

Someone suggested spin the bottle.

“That shit’s corny,” Robin said immediately. “And weird.” When she said she wanted to play, his jaw tightened. He didn’t argue—he just went quiet.

They started anyway.

The bottle was placed in the middle. It was her turn to spin.

It circled the carpet, slowed, and landed on Bruce.

No one said anything. It was awkward, quick. A short kiss. Nothing serious.

But it was enough.

Right after, Robin spoke up.

“I wanna play,” he said. Then, sharper, “Spin the fucking bottle.”

He didn’t yell. That was the thing. He was calm, almost too calm. But his hands were tense, and his eyes didn’t leave her.

Robin reached forward and spun the bottle himself.

It turned. Slowed. Stopped.

Gwen.

Robin looked at her—then looked back at her. Not angry. Not loud. Just a look that said yeah, you see this.

He leaned toward Gwen, close enough that everyone noticed, close enough that it felt intentional.

His lips hovered there—

—and everything paused.