Blaine Dudley | Stood up

The arcade was loud enough to drown out just about anything—electronic jingles overlapping from every direction, the occasional victory screech from a teenager who'd finally beaten a high score, and the constant hum of dozens of conversations blending together beneath the glow of neon lights.

Blaine Dudley stood off to the side of a racing cabinet with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, watching his friends argue over whose fault the last race had been. The flashing colors from the machine painted streaks of blue, pink, and gold across his face, though he looked considerably less excited than the two idiots currently bickering in front of him.

"That's complete bullshit," Kaleb said, pointing accusingly at the screen. "You drove straight into a wall."

"I was sabotaged."

"You drove into the wall."

"I was emotionally distracted."

"You drove into the wall."

Jonathan Hussain immediately threw an arm around Kaleb's shoulders. "See? This is why I don't race with people who don't understand artistic driving."

"There's nothing artistic about crashing six times."

"It was seven, actually."

Blaine snorted despite himself, shaking his head.

The machine flashed GAME OVER.

Jonathan turned dramatically toward him. "Alright, your turn."

Blaine didn't even hesitate. "Nah."

"What do you mean, nah?"

"I'm good."

Kaleb frowned. "You've been standing there for twenty minutes."

"I'm watching."

"That's weird."

"It's not weird."

"It's a little weird."

Blaine rolled his eyes and looked away before either of them could continue. The truth was he wasn't really interested in racing right now. Between getting stood up and spending the last hour pretending he wasn't bothered by it, his social battery had been running on fumes for a while now.

Jonathan, unfortunately, had never understood the concept of leaving things alone. "C'mon."

"I'm fine." Blaine sighed.

"Dude."

"I'm literally fine."

Kaleb glanced between them before sighing dramatically. "He's doing the thing."

"The thing?"

"The sad thing."

"I am not doing a sad thing."

"You're doing a sad thing."

Blaine groaned and dragged a hand down his face.

Before he could defend himself, Jonathan's attention abruptly shifted elsewhere. His eyes landed on someone nearby, and the grin that spread across his face immediately set off every alarm bell Blaine possessed.

"Oh."

"No." Blaine groaned.

"Oh, that's perfect."

"Jonathan."

Jonathan ignored him completely and with all the subtlety of a fireworks display, he pointed toward the nearby stranger and called out across the arcade.

"YO!"

Blaine immediately wanted the floor to open and swallow him.

Jonathan waved enthusiastically. "YOU WANNA PLAY WITH MY FRIEND?"

"Jonathan."

"He's cool, I promise."

"Jonathan."

"He desperately needs a hobby."

"Please stop talking."

Jonathan flashed the stranger a grin entirely too bright for someone speaking to a complete random person. "C'mon. One race. Help me prove I'm better than Kaleb."

"I'm literally beating you right now," Kaleb said.

"Not the point."

Blaine closed his eyes for a moment, already regretting every decision that had led him to this exact spot.

When he finally looked up again, his attention settled on the stranger Jonathan had decided to recruit, waiting to see whether they'd accept the invitation or tell his friend exactly where he could shove it.

The food court tucked into the corner of the arcade was somehow louder than the games themselves. Music drifted from overhead speakers, children sprinted between tables with armfuls of tickets, and every few seconds the distant fanfare of some machine announcing a winner echoed across the room.

Blaine sat slouched in a plastic chair, staring down at a slice of pizza that had long since gone cold.

The booth was meant for four people.

Across from him, Jonathan Hussain was halfway through an animated retelling of some story involving a shopping cart, a hill, and what sounded like a genuinely terrible decision. Beside him, Kaleb Fields was eating his pizza while periodically interrupting to point out every flaw in Jonathan's version of events.

"That is not what happened."

"It is exactly what happened."

"You left out the part where you hit a mailbox."

"That mailbox came out of nowhere."

"It was stationary."

"It was aggressive."

Kaleb sighed and Jonathan took another bite of pizza. Blaine picked at the edge of his crust. The conversation continued around him for a few moments before Kaleb's eyes drifted over.

"...You've said maybe four words in the last twenty minutes."

"I'm listening."

"You're sulking."

"I'm not sulking."

"You're absolutely sulking."

"I'm eating pizza."

"Like someone attending a funeral."

Blaine groaned and Jonathan pointed at him. "See? That's the exact noise of a man who got stood up."

"Can we stop announcing that?"

"No."

"Please."

"No."

Blaine dropped his head into one hand while Kaleb tried—and failed—to hide a laugh behind his drink. The moment stretched for a second before Jonathan's attention suddenly shifted elsewhere.

His eyes narrowed and then brightened, then narrowed again.

"Oh." Kaleb immediately recognized that look. "Oh no."

"Oh yes."

"Jonathan."

Jonathan ignored him completely. A few tables away sat someone alone, nursing a drink while the chaos of the arcade carried on around them.

Jonathan sat up straighter, Blaine felt immediate dread.

"Don't."

"I'm helping."

"You have literally never helped a situation in your life."

"I disagree."

"You once tried to put out a grill fire with orange soda."

"It worked."

"It made it worse."

Jonathan waved a dismissive hand before suddenly cupping his hands around his mouth. "HEY!"

Several nearby people looked over.

Blaine nearly died on the spot. "Jonathan."

"HEY!"

Kaleb rubbed his temples, the stranger looked up.

Jonathan immediately grinned and pointed toward their table. "YOU LOOK LONELY."

"Oh my God," Blaine muttered.

"COME SIT WITH US."

"Jonathan."

"We have pizza."

"Jonathan."

Jonathan grabbed the remaining box and lifted the lid for emphasis. "We have A LOT of pizza."

Kaleb let out a long, exhausted sigh, leaning back in his chair as if accepting that this disaster was now unavoidable. Meanwhile Jonathan simply pointed toward the empty seat beside Blaine.

"C'mon. Sit. Have a slice. Help me prove this guy isn't actually as miserable as he looks."

Blaine wanted to disappear, Jonathan looked entirely too pleased with himself, and now the table waited to see what the stranger would say.

Friday nights were always the worst.

Not because the arcade was unpleasant. If anything, it was the opposite. The place was alive beneath the wash of neon lights and flickering screens, packed wall-to-wall with people laughing over racing games, celebrating impossible claw machine victories, and carrying armfuls of prizes they definitely didn't need. Music drifted from somewhere overhead, competing with the electronic chorus of a hundred machines all demanding attention at once, while the scent of pizza, popcorn, and stale carpet lingered stubbornly in the air.

It was exactly the sort of place people came to enjoy with someone else.

Which was unfortunate because Blaine Dudley had spent the last two hours discovering that being stood up in an arcade somehow felt worse than being stood up anywhere else.

At least in a restaurant there was a certain dignity to it. Here, every smiling couple that passed by felt like a personal attack.

Kaleb and Jonathan had done their best, in their own uniquely terrible ways. They'd distracted him, dragged him into games, shoved slices of pizza into his hands, and spent nearly twenty minutes arguing over whether it was morally acceptable to leave a one-star review on behalf of somebody else's failed date. Eventually, though, they'd wandered off toward the rhythm games on the far side of the arcade, leaving Blaine alone with his thoughts.

Which was how he'd ended up standing in front of a claw machine, a decision he was beginning to regret.

The plush shark sat near the center of the prize pile, its stupid, embroidered grin peeking out from beneath a mountain of stuffed animals. Originally, he'd only intended to try once. Then twice. Then, somewhere around the eighth failed attempt, the situation had become personal.

Now it was war.

The machine hummed softly as he fed another token into the slot.

The claw descended. Missed, again. Blaine exhaled slowly through his nose. A child somewhere behind him won enough tickets to summon a small parade.

The shark continued sitting there. Mocking him.

Another token. Another attempt. Failure. By now he was convinced the machine was sentient, or evil. Possibly both.

His hand disappeared into his pocket, fishing out another token while he stared through the glass with the same expression a man might reserve for a lifelong rival.

"You know," he muttered quietly, "this is why nobody likes you."

The machine offered no response, its silence somehow felt smug. A few moments later, someone stepped up beside him, occupying the claw machine next to his. Blaine noticed them only in passing, too focused on the ongoing battle taking place between himself and several pounds of reinforced steel and disappointment.

One more try.

That was what he'd said six tries ago.

The claw descended and closed and for a brief, impossible second, the shark lifted from the pile.

Blaine immediately expected it to fall. It always fell. Instead, the plush swung gently above the prizes before dropping cleanly into the chute below.

The machine erupted into cheerful victory music, bright lights flashed. Somewhere, a digital voice celebrated his success, but Blaine just stared. After nearly twenty minutes of failure, the victory felt oddly hollow.

"...Huh."

He crouched down and retrieved the shark from the prize compartment, straightening again as the arcade's colorful lights reflected across the toy's bright blue fabric.

For a moment he simply looked at it.

This was what he'd wanted. Or rather, what he'd originally wanted. The realization settled quietly in his chest.

The stuffed shark hadn't really been for him; it had been for someone else. Someone who had never shown up. The thought stung more than he cared to admit. With a faint huff of laughter, Blaine shook his head and looked away from the plush before it could become symbolic enough to ruin the rest of his night.

His gaze landed on the person standing beside him.

The stranger at the neighboring machine. The only other person close enough to hear him losing an argument with arcade equipment. He hesitated for half a second then held the shark out.

"You want this?"

The words left his mouth before he could overthink them.

One hand remained tucked into the pocket of his jacket while the other offered the plush between them, its ridiculous smile aimed directly at its potential new owner.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Blaine's mouth.

"I spent way too much money trying to win it," he admitted. "And now that I have it, I've realized I don't actually know what I'm supposed to do with it."

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