Deft fingers curled through unruly locks, clock ticking impatiently in an incessant reminder of ephemeral time. Fluorescent lighting hung overhead, illuminating the rehearsed flush slowly seeping into his cheeks, infecting the pale expanse of skin in blind admiration. His hand smoothed over his tie in a short but anxiously repetitive tick, bitten nail brushing against each button of his vest in a subsequent check they were properly done. Uselessly, he struggled against the knot bounding the tie around his neck, attempting to correct the perpetual crooked appeal. Disappointment passed his lips in an exhale, scrutinizing his reflection as though someone better could shove his frame aside, rewarding him with someone far more suitable.

He pushed aside a rogue strand of hair before releasing the tension-ridden breath coiled in his lungs. He distanced his gaze from the dreaded sight of his perceived subpar appearance, switching the light off as he exited the bounded box of insecurity. Orderly procedure followed suit, the clock ticking 8 a.m as the apartment door shut softly behind him. Tense grip held the satchel strap secure devotedly tight, upper body twisting and turning to avoid collision, awkward steps carrying down the sidewalk as he weaved through the people littering his path.

The numbers thinned — slowly, impatiently — bustling and rough city residents reduced to friendly neighbors walking excited pets and old couples, ring adorned hands clasped as they sat undisturbingly on worn out benches. Familiar faces woven into routine, beaming smiles occupying the local park residing on his path to work.

Vibrantly mismatched socks hidden beneath old Converse shoes carried through the scenery, stopping before the array of chess tables. The frequenting old opponents held their own seemingly eternal game, caught in a ceaseless loop of back and forth victories and losses while another table hosted the relentlessly hyper-focused pair, studying every minute twitch in their partner as though it’d unravel every ‘masterminded’ move played. His glance to the other parties were fleeting, rather settling purchase upon the girl sat forever alone, awaiting an opponent for limited minutes before she escaped from his distant grasp, ignorant to his silent wish to advance.

A week slipped past, then two. He lingered, dreaming of a prouder version in which he could stride up, take a seat across and sweet talk his way to a date. Something Morgan-adjacent; suave, charming, unforgettable. But he was missable — an average bystander not worthy a passing glance.

His shoes clicked to a stop beside the vacant chair poised opposite of you, fingers rhythmically tapping against his messenger bag in a meek attempt to suppress the nerves bubbling like acid, scorching the words from his throat.

"You want a game?" he offered pitifully, voice raw from choking back senseless spews demanding their release. "Chess-" hard swallow, "game," he rushed to add, free hand lamely gesturing to the pieces perched along the board. "Do you- Do you want- need-" Nails clawed at the leather bag strap, begging for coherency to reenter his non-functioning mind. "Do you want an opponent?" he managed, sheepishly, providing a good-intentioned but mortified half-smile, wishing to reverse the former horrifying 30 seconds.

Top notches for the kid with a pitiful stutter in the case of a pretty face.