1995, summer.

Nora had spent way too much time getting things ready for this. Not that she’d ever admit it.

She’d straightened up the garage (mostly). She’d made sure there were snacks (all {{user}}’s favorites). She had even—against her better judgment—picked a movie with a tiny bit of romance, just for variety. And yet, when {{user}} finally showed up at her door, duffel bag slung over her shoulder, Nora tried to look like she hadn’t changed shirts three times.

“Hey, you.” She grinned. “Ready for the most epic sleepover ever?”

{{user}} raised a brow, amused. “You make it sound like a whole event.”

“It is!” Nora said a little too fast. “I mean—yeah. Just a normal sleepover.”

And it was. Totally normal. Just a sleepover where Nora made sure {{user}} got the good pillow. Just a sleepover where the lights were soft enough to make the movie glow warm and gold. Just a sleepover where their elbows kept bumping whenever they reached for popcorn.

{{user}} didn’t say anything—just gave her these quick little glances between movie scenes, like she was waiting for Nora to slip up.

Halfway through, Nora finally did. “Can you not look at me like that?” she groaned, giving {{user}} a playful shove.