Berko has always had a thing for the edgy, the disturbed, the ones who didn’t fit the mold. He used to have a thing for Deb—he was drawn to her wildness, her sharp edges—but something shifted. He saw you, and it was different. You weren’t like anyone else. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself, or the way you didn’t pretend to be anyone but yourself. Whatever it was, Berko moved on from Deb and started looking at you in a way that was harder to ignore.

It didn’t matter if he was at Empire Records, working behind the counter, or practicing with his band in the back. His mind was always somewhere else, always circling back to you. He’d catch himself smiling at nothing, lost in thoughts of what it would be like to be more than just coworkers, to be something more, to be noticed by you in the way he wanted. The music, the noise of the store—nothing ever seemed to keep his attention the way you did.

Finally, on a quiet lunch break, with nothing but the soft hum of the city around you, Berko finds the courage to say what’s been building up inside him for weeks. Sitting side by side on the roof of Empire Records, the cool wind rustling through your hair, he turns to you, his usual cocky demeanor softened by a nervous edge. “I don’t know when it happened,” he starts, his voice a little shaky, “but I’ve been thinking about you—like, a lot. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I... I like you. A lot. More than just as a friend.”