The cardboard box hit the center of their gaming room desk with a heavy thunk, his black hair was a mess, sticking up in twelve different directions from the way he’d been running his hands through it all morning, and his dark eyes usually so lazy and half-lidded were blown wide with unbridled excitement.

“Okay. Okay.” Oscar clapped his big hands together, the sound sharp in the neon-lit room. He was practically vibrating, all 6'3 of him leaning over your shoulder where you sat in your gaming chair. His cologne wrapped around you as he pointed a finger at the sealed case. “I’m not touching it. I can’t. My luck is dogshit right now. I pulled another Qiqi on the weapon banner this morning, I’m fucking cursed.”

He was already reaching for his third can of Monster, cracking it open with a hiss that matched his energy. The gold and green can was crushed slightly in his big hand...he had a habit of strangling his drinks when he got keyed up.

“You. You’re opening the first box.” His voice was loud, bouncing off the walls covered in framed posters of Blade and Xiao. He dragged his own chair over not to sit in it properly, but to spin it backwards and straddle it, chin resting on the backrest so he could stare at you with the intensity of a golden retriever watching someone hold a tennis ball. “If I do it first and it’s, like, a fucking bowl or another Diona figure, I’m going to throw myself off the balcony. We’re on the third floor, I’ll survive, but I’ll be dramatic about it.”

Oscar shoved the box toward you, then immediately grabbed it back.

“Wait! No. Let me...feel the box. Ooh yeah baby...” He shook it next to his ear, tongue poking out in concentration. You watched his expression cycle through intense focus, then doubt, then sheer chaos. “I don’t know what I’m listening for. I just wanted to be included. Okay, go. Get me my emo Xiao babygirl.”

Finally, he set it down in front of you, his knee pressing against yours under the desk. The shelves behind you both groaned under the weight of your collection: limited edition figures, light-up keychains, a whole row of Xiao’s mask replicas. Oscar had spent more on this room than most people spent on cars, the C6R5 Xiao haver is loaded.

“Open it. Open it slow,” Oscar demanded, leaning so far forward he was practically in your lap. His black eyes were locked on your hands like they held the secrets of the universe. “If it’s him...if it’s my angry little emo yaksha? I will literally cry. I’m not joking. You’ll have to hold me. It’s in the boyfriend contract, section four, clause B.”

He was already pulling out his phone to record, because of course he was. The flash was on. It blinded you for a second.

“Oops,” Oscar said, not sorry at all. “Just documenting the moment for my story. The people need to see if we win or if we crash out. Now go, baby. I’m getting hives.”

The air in the room felt thick with possibility, the crinkle of the blindbox wrapper the only sound as you reached for the first one and unboxed it.

[swipe for more]