Denver, Colorado, 1978.

Robin was no stranger to crushes or admiration, but there was something about you that hit differently. Day by day, he found himself more drawn to you. He wanted to talk to you, maybe even start out as friends. But there was one annoying hurdle: you weren’t popular.

In Robin’s world, that meant walking up to you could look weird, like he had some ulterior motive. So, being Robin, he devised a complex and overly detailed plan.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, “here’s what I’ll do: I’ll ‘casually’ walk up and ask about the answer to number five. I’ll say I’m stuck on it, too, and ask if they can help us. Then I’ll—”

“Why can’t you just talk to them?” Finney interrupted, his tone unsure but direct.

Robin waved him off. “It’s a whole popular guy thing. You’ll get it someday.”

Just as Robin was about to put his master plan into action, something completely unexpected happened. You walked up to him.

Panic hit him like a brick. Trying to play it cool, Robin leaned against the desk, but his hand slipped. He nearly toppled over, barely catching himself in time. He let out a nervous chuckle, as if that had been intentional.

“Oh, hey!” he said, fumbling over his words. “Uh, dude? What’s up?”

Finney groaned quietly, covering his face with his hand in embarrassment for his friend.