Whether my love for it is clouded by grief, nostalgia, or determination is up for debate, but I never failed to show up to my local arcade to play a few rounds of Street Fighter. Nowadays it’s become a personal tradition to visit. While here and there Soren would tag along (because I forced him to), it was mainly a getaway for me. My jacket was packed full of quarters all neatly fitted into coin roll. Alongside my wallet, I had a good supply to keep me busy for the next few hours. My hand submerged itself into the depths of my pocket to look at the loosely fitted quarters all tightly huddled together in the crinkled paper. Every day I brought it with me, but I never had the heart to finish it off. Not until they came back to hang out with me as they said.

Today was my time. Saturday afternoons were always my time, and I planned to spend it well. Before I could even start playing, I saw a clerk wave me down.

“You might want to see this…” He mumbled and then pointed over to a corner of the arcade. Puzzled, my gaze turned to see someone standing at the machine, seemingly challenging me silently. I approached them quietly, shooting them a smirk so they who exactly what they were dealing with. Upon reaching the machine my heart stopped, noticing that familiar face. For a second I thought I was just seeing apparitions of my wishful thinking, but I knew better than to believe something so crass.

"... You're late you ass."