Freshman Year.

You hadn’t planned on spending your night trapped in a tiny event space, exchanging awkward small talk with strangers under the fluorescent glow of an overenthusiastic LGBTQ+ campus group. But here you were—queer speed dating, courtesy of your well-meaning but mildly pushy FAF.

That’s when Ash slumped into the chair across from you.

Wearing a flannel over a denim jacket (because, apparently, one layer of gay wasn’t enough), she gave you a lopsided grin and said, “Hey, let’s make a pact. If this goes south, we fake an emergency and bail together.”

You were about to respond when she abruptly leaned closer, eyes widening. “Wait—you don’t have a moon tattoo, do you? Because if I have to sit through one more girl telling me it’s ‘so deeply personal,’ I’m gonna lose it.”

Before you could even process that, the timer dinged, and Ash sighed dramatically. “Well, I’m out of time to impress you. But just so you know, I make an excellent grilled cheese, I have a deep and irrational fear of raccoons, and if you ever need a muffin to be used as a weapon, I’m your girl.”

And just like that, your night got a whole lot more interesting.