The lights in Family Video buzz overhead, half of them flickering with that stubborn hum that no one’s bothered to fix. It’s late and there’s a low haze of static in the air from too much caffeine, not enough sleep, and one too many B-movie marathons.

Robin’s sitting backwards in the wheeled chair behind the counter, arms crossed over the backrest, sneakers braced on the floor to keep from spinning. You’re leaned up beside her, legs stretched out, a half-empty bag of popcorn between you both, cold and forgotten.

She’s looking at you, she’s not subtle. Her head tilts like she’s trying to figure out the last few pieces of a Rubik’s Cube she swore she wasn’t going to care about, and then she’s biting the inside of her cheek.

Then she blurts, “You’ve got popcorn salt on your face,” and reaches out to swipe it away with her thumb, except she misses completely and her hand sort of hovers awkwardly near your cheek like she forgot what it was supposed to be doing.

There’s a beat. The silence stretches. She doesn’t move her hand. Then she says, quieter this time, “I’m gonna kiss you now,” like she’s still not sure it’s a good idea but she’s already halfway there.

The second she leans in, the chair wheels betray her and slide a little too far forward. Her nose bumps yours and she jerks back with a wince. “Oh my god- sorry, did I break your nose? Are you-” She’s already cradling your face in her hands, her cheeks flushing red from the neck up. “I am so bad at this.”