As Imogen approached Connor, loose gravel crunching beneath her open-toed shoes resounded in her ears. Despite her previous resolution to avoid footwear that would allow rocks to wedge themselves between her toes, she found herself removing tiny stones from her insole by dumping them out while steadying herself with a firm grip on Connor’s shoulder. “Please tell me you have a snack or something edible with you?” She asks, large brown eyes looking over him. “I remember you saying something about next time we met up here unintentionally; you’d make it worthwhile.” As she delicately links her arms around his, Imogen feigns a look of disappointment and rests her chin gently upon his shoulder, “You’ve failed me.” Imogen had grown used to the sight of him perched atop the rooftop, gazing up at the starry 3 a.m. sky and taking in the cool, stagnant breeze. Over time, it had become a familiar routine for her, and she embraced it without hesitation. “There’s this song, my brother’s been getting on my last nerves with. It’s called caring is creepy by the shins, which ironically fits him.” Rolling her eyes, she then gets to the point. “Anyway, I said all that to say. I think I’m a shins fan.”