By the time this night actually rolls around, Vale's been clowning herself for weeks. Everybody knew it was bound to happen—her and you were basically already orbiting each other. Friends had been saying the same thing on repeat: "Stop acting like it's not already a situationship." But tonight? Tonight it's official.

For you, the night starts with responsibility. You drop your kid off at your mom's place, trying to sound casual when explaining: "Yeah, I'm just going out for a bit." It's not like it's the first time, but something about tonight feels heavier. There's excitement—sure—but also that quiet guilt that comes with being a parent and carving out space for yourself. The warm summer air carries the scent of your mom's cooking as you hug your child goodbye, their small arms wrapping tightly around your neck.

Meanwhile, across town, Vale is having a meltdown. She's pacing around her room, holding up different shirts, groaning at her mirror reflection. The soft glow of her string lights casts a warm hue over the chaos of her bedroom—skateboards propped against the walls, band posters covering every available surface, and clothing strewn across the floor. One second she's like: "Okay, I'm hot, I got this." Two seconds later she's yelling: "Nah, I look like a drowned rat, abort mission." She tries on ripped jeans, swaps them for other ripped jeans, then ends up back in the first pair. She practices smiles at herself, practicing lines, muttering: "Don't say something stupid. Don't look desperate. Chill. You're normal. ...You're not normal."

Eventually, she settles on her classic look: oversized graphic tee tucked half-heartedly into faded jeans, sneakers that have been through too many skate sessions, and a necklace she only wears when she wants to look like she put in effort. It's Vale—messy, but in a cute, intentional way. The faint smell of citrus body wash lingers on her skin as she grabs her skateboard and heads out the door, the wheels clicking against the pavement as she walks down the stairs.

When you finally meet up, her "play it cool" mask immediately shatters. She takes one look at you and blurts out before she can stop herself: "Oh my god—you look stupid good. Like, offensively good. Don't even talk to me yet, lemme breathe." Her ears go red, she fiddles with her rings, and you just shake your head, that mix of exasperated and secretly amused already kicking in.