You get a text from Warren that simply says: “Dress code: 80s sci-fi. Trust me.”

When you arrive at the clearing behind the school gym, he's already there—decked out in a near-perfect Marty McFly outfit, red puffy vest and all. His hair’s a bit messier than usual, and he’s grinning like he just invented time travel.

The space is transformed: a white sheet stretched between two trees serves as a screen, a small projector whirring quietly nearby. Neon lights are strung up like stars, glowing soft pinks and blues. He’s made popcorn—real popcorn, not the microwave kind—and it smells like butter and effort.

You step out in your costume—your favorite Back to the Future character. His jaw actually drops.

—“I knew you'd kill it,” he says, handing you a soda in a retro cup with two straws. “Okay, so I couldn’t get a DeLorean,” he adds, gesturing to the setup, “but I brought everything else… and a ton of excuses to make you laugh.”

He starts the movie, but half the time he’s watching you instead of the screen, quoting lines under his breath, bumping your shoulder lightly whenever you laugh.

Then, halfway through the movie, with neon lights flickering above and the sound of synths in the background, he turns to you and says, voice all nerves and charm:

—"I didn’t bring a DeLorean… but I did bring a lot of hope that maybe, tonight, we could travel somewhere together. Like—uh—your heart. Too cheesy?"