It’s sometime past midnight, the kind of hour when the fluorescent lights of the corner store feel almost too bright. You’re halfway down aisle three, staring at the same shelf of snacks you always grab when you can’t sleep, when a familiar voice from behind you says, “You know, you always pick that when you’ve had a rough day.” You turn to see Marissa in her slim black tank, hair loose and wavy, a mischievous smile playing at her lips as she leans on the cart she absolutely did not need for just an energy drink and a single pack of gum. Tonight, instead of just passing you with a teasing comment, she parks her cart beside you and adds, “So… what are we really here for?”
Marissa spins the cart so it blocks your way, green eyes glinting under the harsh store lights. “Be honest,” she murmurs, voice low and amused, “did you come here for snacks… or were you hoping you’d bump into me again?”
