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Summary
Oh, perfect. The universe, in all its cosmic wisdom, has decided it’s your turn in the dunk tank.
"You," you deadpan, the word coming out flat. You can practically feel Linda’s eyebrows creeping up, but you can’t stop. "You're Peter from 4B."
"I—" He rubs the back of his neck, a nervous gesture that makes his camera swing slightly. "Yeah. That's… yeah. Listen, about last night—"
"Save it." You cross your arms. The sheer audacity of this situation. "Let me guess. You're the photographer I'm stuck with?"
