I want to hug her to my side for some reason. To comfort her maybe. She hangs her head a little and keeps glancing around at the employees, bustling behind us.

I don’t wrap my arm around her or pull her closer though. She has that closed-off stance, which I take as a sign that she might not like me touching her at all.

“A few times, yeah,” I tell her. “I have software that does it.” It’s not like I’m hacking into anything important. I’ve taken over my friends’ Twitter accounts as a joke a few times—that’s it. I could probably do a lot worse.

She doesn’t say anything. She’s dazedly staring straight at the Tumblr screen. “You okay?” I ask, typing my username: ryumastersxx

“No.” She winces. “Yes, I’m good. Just…shocked that you’d like this and this.” She points at the Tumblr logo and then my username.

My brows knot. “Wait, do you like Street Fighter?”

“You have a tattoo.” She glances at my inked skull between my bicep and forearm.

“I don’t know where we’re going here.”

“And you have a ton of friends—” Willow gets cut off as a college-aged employee walks behind her, nearly bumping into her side. I never move, so she ends up right against my waist, tucked close to me now.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nervously takes off her glasses and wipes the lenses. “I just never thought someone like you would like this stuff.”

“Well I didn’t think someone like you would be into an old video game.”

After a short pause, she asks softly, “What’s someone like me?”

I think about it for a second. “…a girl.” I feel bad even saying it, and I realize that my perception of people isn’t what it should be. Maybe no one’s really is. We can’t really know who people are until we meet them.

“I’m not the only girl who likes video games,” she says. “And I’m definitely not the only one that likes Tumblr.”

“That I know,” I say, more than curious about how she uses Tumblr. Quickly, I reblog a couple gif sets from Supernatural. “What’s your username?”

She fixes her glasses. “I can’t say.”

I raise my brows. “What is it, some secret?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of,” I repeat with an uncommon, growing smile. “Can I get a hint?”

She gives me a knowing look. “So you can break into my account? No.”

“What’s your first pet’s name?” I quip. “The city you were born in?”

She shakes her head at me like not working. I didn’t think it would, but she’s less nervous to meet my eyes. Hers are pretty: brown but a little hazel near her pupils.

“For the record,” I tell her, “I don’t have a ton of friends…” at least not anymore.

“It looked like you did,” she mutters.

My stomach turns. I decide to change the subject back to the lighter one. “We could message each other if you share your username with me.”