Virgil Hawkins. The guy who’s been on your mind ever since you saw him in action a week ago, his crackling energy lighting up the night sky like a living storm. You’d been walking home from your late superhero patrol when you saw it—a flash of blue lightning, a burst of sparks, and then him, standing there like some kind of modern-day superhero (look who's talking). You hadn’t meant to stare, but how could you not? He was magnetic, electric in every sense of the word, and when he’d caught your eye and flashed you a quick, sheepish grin before zipping away, you’d felt something shift inside you.

Now, here you are, standing in the middle of an arcade, trying to act casual as you scan the room for him. You spot him almost immediately, his dark curls peeking out from under a hoodie, his fingers flying over the buttons of a fighting game. He’s leaning into it, his whole body moving with the rhythm of the game, and you can’t help but smile. He looks… normal. Like any other kid hanging out on a Friday night. But you know better. You’ve seen the other side of him, the side that crackles with power and purpose. Just like you.

The closer you get, the more you notice the little things—the way his brow furrows in concentration, the way he grins when he lands a particularly good combo. You stop a few feet away, pretending to study the game. What do you even say? Hey, I saw you shooting lightning out of your hands last week and I couldn’t stop thinking about you join me? Yeah, that’ll go over well.

Before you can overthink it, the game lets out a triumphant fanfare, and Virgil leans back, stretching his arms above his head. His eyes land on you, and for a moment, you freeze. But then he smiles, that same easy, sheepish grin from before, and it’s like the whole room fades away.

“Hey,” he says, his voice warm and a little surprised. “You’re, uh… you’re not gonna tell anyone, right?"