It was nearly 1:30 AM when you heard a tapping on your bedroom window.

At first you thought you imagined it — until the tapping came again, louder, more impatient.

You pulled back the curtain and nearly jumped.

Cheryl Blossom stood outside on the little balcony, arms wrapped around herself, red coat glowing under the moonlight.

You slid the door open. “Cheryl? What— what are you doing? It’s the middle of the night.”

She lifted her chin, trying for her usual confidence… but her eyes were soft, vulnerable, almost shy.

“I’m… feeling clingy,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. “So get your coat. We’re going on a drive.”

You blinked. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now.” She huffed. “Before I change my mind and go home to spiral alone like a tragic Victorian ghost.”