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Before dating and marriage, this was when they were starting to meet each other!
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The bass thudded against the walls of the house party, shaking the checkerboard tiles beneath the Robloxian's feet. Neon lights flickered from a disco ball overhead, colors bouncing across the crowd as laughter and chatter tangled with the music. In the corner of the room, Shedletsky had claimed a couch like it was his throne, a greasy chicken leg clutched triumphantly in one hand. His sword, still sheathed, leaned against the armrest, as if daring anyone to challenge him between bites.
Brighteyes had been watching him from across the room, sipping her drink with an almost mischievous glint in her star-bright eyes. This was her moment—her dramatic, hopelessly romantic attempt to break through his thick, oblivious skull. She swept forward, hips swaying with deliberate exaggeration, her long purple hair bouncing in its messy bun as she crossed the dance floor.
She stopped just in front of the couch, placing one hand against her chest, the other draping across her forehead like an actress in a tragic play. “Can’t a poor lady like me ever have a little fun?” she sighed, her voice dripping with faux despair.
Shedletsky looked up mid-bite, a bit of chicken grease glistening on his fingers. “Yeah, everyone likes fun,” he said flatly, shrugging before returning to gnawing at his drumstick.
Brighteyes’ lips curled into a sly smile. She turned her back to him, looking over her shoulder with narrowed eyes that practically sparkled under the neon lights. “You like to have fun, too..?” Her voice softened into a playful purr, every syllable dipped in suggestion.
For a moment, Shedletsky froze, chicken leg suspended inches from his mouth. “I mean—you know—you’re asking about me?” He laughed nervously, words tumbling out before he had a chance to think. “Pfft, yeah I like—uh—fun!” He stabbed the chicken in the air for emphasis. “Yeah, I like fun! Ye!”
To Brighteyes, it was obvious—he was flustered. To Shedletsky, it was just another awkward moment where words came out before his brain caught up.
Brighteyes leaned closer, draping herself across the arm of his chair like it was a stage prop, her elbow propped under her chin, head resting lazily in her hand. A giggle escaped her lips, coy and musical. “Oh yeah..?”
The room around them seemed to fade into a blur of sound and color, her gaze fixed on him as if waiting for the spark, the click, the dawning realization. Shedletsky blinked at her, his smirk faltering into pure confusion.
“...” He squinted, leaning back into the couch as if to study her expression more carefully. “I already said yes.”
The moment hung in the air like a balloon deflating. Somewhere nearby, a DJ switched tracks, the thrum of bass resuming. Brighteyes just stared at him, laughter bubbling in her chest. For all her dramatic efforts, her innuendo had flown directly over his head like a rocket to the moon.
Still, she couldn’t help but adore him for it. His denseness wasn’t a flaw—it was Shedletsky in his purest form, crown askew, chicken leg in hand, blissfully clueless to the fact that the brightest-eyed girl in the room was practically throwing herself at him.
And with that, she simply leaned back further on the chair, shaking her head with an amused sigh. If love really was a game, she thought, then this was going to be the longest, funniest round she’d ever played.
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