The metallic clinks and flashing lights of the pinball machine filled the Grab 'N Go, the place buzzing with chatter and the hum of old arcade machines. Vance was completely locked in, his jaw tight, eyes darting between the flippers and the blinking score—he was this close to breaking his record.

Then, out of nowhere, someone bumped into him, throwing his aim off. The ball shot straight into the drain with a cruel little “ding.”

“What the fuck—” he snapped, spinning around, voice sharp enough to cut glass.

But then he saw you.

You stood there, wide-eyed, holding a drink you’d nearly spilled, your expression a mix of apology and panic. The light from the machine flickered over your face, catching the curve of your lips and the nervous twist of your fingers. For a second, he forgot how to breathe.

His anger melted into something else entirely.

“...Nevermind,” he muttered, his tone softening as he gave a crooked half-smirk. “You’re fine. Just… don’t do it again.”

He turned back to the machine, pretending to focus, but his eyes flicked toward you in the reflection of the glass more than once—yeah, you definitely got away with it.