#sorta hehe

Corny pinball dings and flashes abound as you stroll into your haven, marching confidently to the card loader as if you owned the place. Which, frankly, sometimes you felt like you did.

Ok, that was a bit dramatic, but holding a consistent high score on your favorite arcade game gave you a unique childlike high of smugness that only grew stronger with the familiarity of your spot. You knew where everything was, the best table that didn’t wobble, which pizza was the best, how to load credits onto your card without asking for help, all of it. Visiting the arcade was your way to relax, a healthy way to release all your stress and aggression onto pixelated enemies. Not that you were a physically aggressive person anyway, but still. Take that, aliens.

There was a nice adrenaline rush associated with beating your personal best, something exciting but still relaxing. No need to sweat it up like some people did for their rushes.

Swipe.

Points added. Have fun!

Strike Shot was a janky, cheesy-looking console with some of the side design worn off, but so satisfying to huddle over and press the controls as fast as possible. Which honestly was faster than it looked like the machine could operate. The music was intense, upbeat techno you would have just listened to on its own, and the play was fairly simple: fly your ship, shoot down aliens, don’t run into asteroids, ships, or anything that makes you explode. It required focus and deftness, traits you’d honed for months. It was your corny old game, the star-dotted leaderboard suspended above the screen always topped by your initials.

Except today. Shotzfired, your username for that console, had fallen. It was second place. Second. After months of domination, someone had taken your crown. Some player by the name of Number원.

Oh, no. This would not do. Not at all. Number원 thought they could score 53,850 points, unseating you by a mere 300? Well, the joke was on them.

Stretching your hands, you got to work.

~

It happened again. You strode across the ridiculously dated carpet patterned with squiggles, triangles, and squares in yellow, magenta, and cyan to find Strike Shot again topped with Number원, this time beating you by a less narrow margin. Your eyebrows involuntarily furrowed, gaze narrowing at the display as if it would reveal Number원’s secret.

Had you ever seen this person in the arcade? They certainly didn’t seem to share your schedule considering you, a teenage couple who went by LOVERZ, and one kid innocently named MRCOOL once were just about the only people you’d ever seen playing Strike Shot. It wasn’t nearly as popular as the gambling simulators or basketball hoop matches. Heck, even the whack-a-mole got more traffic.

Number원 was a slippery character.

~

You were barely even surprised by the third time. Fire flew into your eyes, spurring you onward to defend your title. Number원 had to realize that you were not going down without a fight. Suddenly, motions that had become second nature to you felt important again, your energy and focus sharpening.

The rage of battle overtook you, every alien ship becoming a proxy for your newest enemy. Defeating the spacecraft shooting little purple blasts at you, sending them spiraling out of the sky, was your way of dropping Number원 off of your throne. Pew, pew. Take that, aliens. There’s only one ruler of space.

~

It was stakeout time. You’d had it. Number원 being on top was bad enough, but changing the username to Number원 ㅋㅋㅋ? It may have taken two weeks, but now it was personal.

Defeat was a challenge, mockery was all-out warfare. A purple-shirted arcade employee walked by you that day, stating “I’m glad you’ve been enjoying this game so much,” and it took every fiber of your being just to accept it and not explain that what you were doing was an act of silent warfare. You weren’t sure if the employee was enough of a gamer to get it. He was definitely younger than you, that was for sure. Teenagers had a tendency to roll their eyes at adults, right?

So, the day after you beat Number원 ㅋㅋㅋ, you went to the arcade. Day off be darned. Some of the familiarity had melted away, that usual kid replaced by a middle-aged woman you suspected was both the place’s owner and the boy’s mother. They had the same warm smile.

You stationed yourself at the pinball machine adjacent to Strike Shot, getting in a few rounds of a game you hadn’t enjoyed in too long anyway. You were rusty, so you honed your flipper skills while glancing occasionally at your home game, which remained empty.

After several rounds of pinball and even one on the claw machine around the corner (you didn’t win, the thing was totally rigged), it was break time. Couldn’t waste too many of your credits, after all. They didn’t exactly spring up out of the garish 1990’s carpet, after all, and you couldn’t help but chuckle as you wondered what your boss would think if he knew some of your wages were going to this.

A trio of middle school boys ran boisterously past, beelining for the basketball. LOVERZ strolled by hand in hand, the girl giggling at something her boyfriend said as she straightened her shiny black pigtails.

One lonely-looking guy tried his hand at the zombie shooter, gripping the plastic gun like much more of a pro than you would have expected. Usually you saw him at the claw machine. No one touched Strike Shot, you reflected as you crossed the floor over to the pizza parlor, ordering two slices of your favorite.

When you sat down and started tearing into the greasy goodness, you were surprised to see you weren’t the only one there. A guy near your age, give or take a couple years, sat two seats away from you finishing up some pizza of his own. You’d never seen him before; maybe he wasn’t a regular.

For some reason, he intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he casually yet deftly pushed his glasses up or the calm he exuded, but you decided to try your hand at conversation.

“Is this your first time here?”

You saw his posture shift, clearly in surprise at being addressed, before he turned toward you, shaking his head with a small smile. “No, I come here quite often, actually.”

“Me, too,” you replied, brow furrowing, “I’m surprised I’ve never seen you before. I thought I knew everyone!” You added with a chuckle.

“I usually come on tuesdays and thursdays.”

You nod slowly. “Oh, that’s why. I’m usually here on mondays and wednesdays. Took out some overtime this week.” You grinned. “I’m (y/n), by the way.”

“(y/n),” he repeats, “My name is Wonwoo. Hey, while you’re here, would you be interested in being Player 2 for Death Risen? I’ve always wanted to play, but I come here on my own.”

“Sure,” you nod, taking another bite of your pizza, “I’ve never played either, though, so I may not be up to my usual standard.”

Wonwoo cocked an eyebrow at that. “You have high standards, then?”

“Can’t come here this often and not, right?” You joked, eyes sparkling with mischief.

~

“Watch out. Watch out. Watch-” BLAM! Warnings received, you whipped around and took out the ghoul that charged from behind, somehow managing a headshot. “Nice,” Wonwoo commented.

He was really good at games, his calm smile fading into a sharp, focused look the moment he pressed start, but still kept that relaxing presence. You didn’t feel like you had to perform for him, like he didn’t care about pretense at all. His demeanor was a natural damp on nervous energy too, making you feel balanced out. You’d practically forgotten about Strike Shot, your mind devoted to shooting ghosts and demons out of the earthly plane…and maybe trying to switch your work schedule to heavier tuesdays and thursdays. Given you worked from home, that could be manageable if you-

Wait. Had this guy already gotten that far under your skin? You’d played one long round of Death Risen and you were already-

“Look, we got the high score! Great job, (y/n)!” Wonwoo reached over for a high-five, a big smile on his face and joy lighting up his deep brown eyes as the victory screen reflected in the lenses of his glasses.

Yep, you were interested. High-fiving back, you took in the feelings of your hands together for the fleeting moment you were offered. "Wanna play anything else?"

"Sure," Wonwoo nodded, "have you figured out the secret to the claw machine yet?"

Your eyes widened with interest. "That thing? It's so rigged."

He smirked, turning his game card in his hands like a master gambler plays with his poker hand. "Not if you know the trick."

Apparently, the trick was to shake the machine too. "Isn't this cheating?"

"Do you want a rubber duck or not?" Wonwoo shot back, laughing as you palmed the sides of the big rectangular chamber. "I'm sure they only cost this place like ₩20,000 for a lot of a hundred. It's not like we're cheating on the one that wins you a switch."

"Ok, ok," you let go of the machine to put up your hands in surrender, "you sold me. I wouldn't feel good about stealing a switch, either," you clarified.

"You're barely into stealing a rubber duck," Wonwoo teased, bringing warmth to your face.

"Yeah, yeah, let me know when to move it."

"Alright, go ahead. Which one do you want?"

"Hmmm, if you can go for the one with the cowboy hat, I like him."

"Done."

You walked away from the claw machine with Wonwoo at your side and your rubber duck, which you named Ranger, peeking out of your pocket.

"So, do you have a favorite game here?" You asked Wonwoo, peering at his handsome side profile as you broke the comfortable silence.

"Yeah," he nodded, grinning, "but I think only one other person ever plays it. I'm the best, though."

"I'm a regular, remember? Try me."

He tilted his head toward a purple console with faded wrapping on the side, aliens with faces worn away, the menacing effect totally lost as the screen flashed invitingly, enticingly.

"Strike Shot," he tells you with a smirk as if you didn't have every button, every chip of that game memorized, "someone keeps trying to beat my high score, but I beat them every time."

It hit you like a ton of bricks, your eyes falling open. Number원. Wonwoo. This was the guy whose ass you'd been trying to beat for two weeks.

"Number원," you muttered before you could stop yourself, tone a little more intent than the half of you that was attracted to this guy would have wanted.

What were the odds? This guy, this really chill, stupidly handsome guy you were going to try to swap numbers with was the newfound bane of your gamers' pride's existence?

Wonwoo for his part chuckled, smirk widening. "Shotzfired?"

"You're going down. One final match."

"Why, because if I beat you bad enough you won't play anymore?"

"That's it," you stop, crossing your arms and stepping closer to him, only inches separating the two of you. You'd totally forgotten yourself, forgotten Wonwoo and that you two were still relative strangers and that you were just thinking he was hot enough to rearrange your work from home schedule just to see him. In that moment, all you saw was the red of your silent war. "I'll show you. You'll eat those words."

That calm smile broke across his face, somehow much more infuriating than the smirk was. Wonwoo looked completely unbothered by your words, more faintly amused, like you were cute. The part of you that wanted him to find you cute had gone to sleep, though. Mostly. You still felt a little flushed, the realization of the way you two had been standing for just a little too long hitting you. But there was no backing down, not when he said what he said, that peaceful happiness still painting his face.

"Make me, (y/n)."

~

You won. You. Freaking. Won. By only a hundred points, but you topped the leader board with a smirk, crossing your arms once more as you swiveled to face Wonwoo. "Take that."

"That's ok, I'll just beat it next time you're here. You're so happy, I'll leave it for now.”

“That’s ok, maybe next time I’ll be here to stop you.”

“Oh?” Try as you might, you couldn’t read into the ‘oh’ very well. He sounded a bit pleased, but you weren’t sure if it was just the competition talking.

“Or would you rather just show up and see?” You backed off a little, suddenly feeling self-conscious, like maybe you’d taken it too far.

“If I’m being honest? I like having someone here to play with. Ever since we started going back and forth in first place, it’s been more fun, don’t you think?”

You had felt a new fire in you as you played to beat Number원, not just fill your own space. It had filled you with a new anticipation every time you’d entered the arcade, hoping to see someone else standing at Strike Shot for you to challenge. Heck, you’d even gone full stakeout more on your usual errand day just to get a glimpse of the person you were locked in a battle with. It had been the most fun you’d had in a while, a revitalization of a stale routine.

“Yeah,” you smiled, this time softly, gladly, “it has been more fun.”

“Same time next tuesday, then?”

“You’re on.”

Waving to the owner lady, you strode out of the arcade with a smug look, but this time your high score was completely forgotten. After all, Wonwoo had asked you for your phone number.

~

“Get him! Get him!”

“I’m trying! You’re making this difficult, (y/n).”

“What do you mean?” You teased, hands sliding a bit further up Wonwoo’s waist as he tried to hit the right combo of buttons.

“You won’t be laughing when I topple your Strike Shot score again,” he shot back, but he turned to away during the little zombie cutscene to peck your lips.

“Well then, I’ll just beat it again like I always do. Like I have been doing for, let’s see…”. You counted on your fingers innocently. “Five months now?”

He shook his head. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you just agreed, blinking at the stars in your boyfriend’s eyes, memories of you guys reading together, watching and reviewing movies, laughing at how silly you looked playing whack-a-mole like a kid, the way Wonwoo’s unique mind opened you up to new details of the places you’d seen countless times and the way you dragged him out to have fun everywhere you went, and of course your first kiss shared at your doorstep all playing through the haze of your mind, “but you know you love me.”