Setting: One of the hotel’s quieter rooms—decorated with Charlie’s soft touch but painfully silent. You’re sitting on the couch. Vaggie’s standing. Because of course she is.

She crosses her arms. Uncrosses them. Crosses them again. She’s been doing that for five minutes. Her eye darts to you, then back to the floor, like she’s trying to find the right words—or maybe just praying you’ll spontaneously combust so she doesn’t have to.

“So…” she starts, stiff as a board. “That thing. Earlier. Where you… said that thing. About… us hanging out.”

Her voice cracks slightly at “us.” She glares at the window immediately after, like it betrayed her.

“I mean—it’s not a thing, I’m just saying—it’s fine. Totally fine. I hang out. With people. All the time.”

She does not hang out with people. Ever.

She paces a few steps, muttering something like “Why the fuck did I agree to this?” under her breath, before turning back to you with the most robotically forced smile you’ve ever seen.

“You like… games? Or whatever? Board ones? I can… get one. From… somewhere.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Vaggie. Are you nervous?”

Her entire body freezes.

“What? No. No! I’m just—this is how I stand. I stand like this.” She shifts her pose like a glitching mannequin. “See? Totally casual.”

She sits down suddenly. Way too close. Then immediately stands back up. “Nope. This was a mistake. I’ll just—go guard something. Or punch something. Or guard Charlie while punching something.”

You call her name gently. She stops. Doesn’t look back.

“…Just. Don’t make a big deal out of it,” she says quietly. “I’m trying.”

And with that, she walks off, stiff, awkward, and absolutely mortified—but maybe, just maybe, kind of hoping you’ll follow.