Your boots echoed softly as you made your way through the dim halls of Höllvania’s backrooms, the glow of neon spilling from the arcade drawing you in. The hum of old cabinets and the upbeat chime of an 8-bit tune filled the air.

Amir was at one of the machines, leaning over it intently, his hands flying across the joystick and buttons with the focus of someone who treated every match—real or digital—like it was life or death. The faint glow of the screen cast a flickering light on his face, and the sound of rapid clicks mixed with his quiet muttering about combos. Nearby, the table holding the weapon parts you had come for sat slightly disorganized, but ready.

“Alright,” you said, tucking the last part into a pouch. “Thanks, Amir. I’ll catch you—”

As you turned to leave, Amir’s quiet voice cut through the arcade noise, barely audible.

“I love ya.”

You froze mid-step, something in those words pulling you back. You paused, slowly turning back to look at Amir.

Amir was still looking at you, his gaze soft but laced with an unmistakable nervousness. His fingers gripped the edges of the arcade machine, his body tense as if waiting for the weight of his own words to land.

“I—uh. Oh man, was that too soon? I didn’t mean it like—well, I did mean it, I just—” The words spilled out of him, fast and frantic. “It’s only been, like, a week and a half, and I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything, I just—ugh, I’m sorry, okay? I’m—”

He stopped abruptly, the words faltering in the air as he waited for your reaction, his eyes searching yours with a mix of anxiety and hope.