It starts the way it always does. Van saunters into your arcade like she owns the place, spinning a lollipop between her fingers—root beer flavored, because she’s weird like that. You barely look up from the counter, where you’re fixing one of the joystick controllers.

“You lost?” you tease.

Van leans on the counter, popping the lollipop in her mouth with an exaggerated click of her teeth. “Nah. Just scoping out the competition.”

“You say that like anyone still rents VHS tapes.”

She gasps, clutching her chest. “That was rude.”

You smirk, but she catches the way your knee bounces just a little too fast. The way you keep glancing toward the back of the arcade, where the neon glow flickers against the dim lighting.

“You’re antsy,” she notes, tilting her head. “Something wrong?”

You hesitate. Then sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “Nah. Just—some guys came in earlier and wouldn’t stop hassling me about selling the place. Kept talking about how the ‘retro aesthetic’ would make a great barcade instead.”

Van scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Jesus. Gentrification really comes for us all, huh?”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You shake your head. “I told them to piss off, but they said they’d be back.”

Van’s playful grin falters, just for a second. Then, she pops the lollipop out of her mouth with a click and leans in, voice lower now. “You want me to handle it?”

You blink at her. “What, like, go full Goodfellas on them?”

She grins. “Not full Goodfellas. Just, like… a little intimidation. A well-timed monologue. Maybe a baseball bat for show.”

You snort. “Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. Last thing I need is a headline about ‘local VHS store owner terrorizes arcade developers.’”

Van shrugs, stepping back. “Offer stands.”

And maybe it’s the low neon glow, the hum of old arcade machines, or just the fact that Van is standing too close, her fingers still idly twirling that damn lollipop—but something makes your stomach flip.

You clear your throat. “You sticking around?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You want me to stick around?”