Page 37 of Ignition

The arcade was done up unapologetically vintage, complete with neon light fixtures and a rug with phosphorescent patterns that was giving me a headache. I was pretty sure I’d puked on an identical one as a kid, pocket full of coins, drunk on sugar and forbidden excitement.

A wave of warm, electric air hit me square in the chest—metal, old circuits, spilled cola, and a hint of sweet bubblegum—dredging up a memory I’d crammed away in a corner of my mind: stolen afternoons with my cousins when we’d bribed our driver to bring us to a place like this without our parents knowing, the three of us shoving each other, eager to take turns.

It hit me then, hard and true, stealing the breath from my lungs: it had been a while since I’d done something fun, just because I wanted to.

The sounds tugged at my attention, yanking me from my trance: whoops of triumph, groans of frustration, beeps and jingles from the machines themselves, the rhythmic clanking of buttons.

God, I’d forgotten how alive this noise felt. A far cry from the polished, proper places I frequented now, full of hushed whispers and prim manners.

Like a compass finding true North, my eyes slid to her, looking softer than ever: hair tied in a messy bun, the sleeves of her pale blue sweater rolled up, the familiar little frown etched on her face. But it was her eyes that rooted me to the spot—alight in a way I’d never seen them.

Everything stilled.

My heart gave a loud, violent kick against my ribs.

She slumped forward a little, attention glued to a game I hadn’t seen before. The neon-green writing on the machine simply read “Galaga.”

I couldn’t tell what it was without stalking closer, and though I itched to find out, I lingered out of sight, lips curled into a little smile—deniable to the death.

A loud clack of buttons, desperate and insistent, followed by a groan of frustration she shook off, before inserting another coin.

I let her get into the groove again, then shuffled closer. My footsteps made no sound on the worn carpet, but my thoughts cranked up in volume. I told myself I only wanted to rattle her. The sane part of me screamed in warning, as if lingering in this place was unsafe.

I stopped next to the machine, crossed my arms over my chest, and leaned my side against it. The vibration hummed into my bones—like it was almost alive under that neon and plastic—and when she slammed the button, the dull thud jolted into my shoulder.

It was some space-shooting game dominated by colourful little pixels. Enemies swarmed on the screen, and Mia’s little ship shot at them deftly, blowing them up. Her hands were furiously smashing the buttons and wrestling with the joystick, every move punctuated by electronic beeps, shooting sounds, and her nearly inaudible grunts of concentration.

My fingers twitched as though they could feel the hard plastic, the rubber of the joystick worn smooth from countless hands. I knew if I slid in a coin and started playing, muscle memory would take over.

The neon lights made her look almost surreal, dancing and chasing each other over the slope of her straight nose, the curve of her cheek. The red glow of defeat highlighted the pronounced cupid’s bow of her mouth before the tip of a pink tongue peeked out between her teeth in concentration.

I yanked my gaze away, like the sight had burned, and fixed it back on the screen, but my pulse wasn’t fooled. My heart thudded over and over in my ears, drowning out all other sounds.

She struggled, lost, only to slide another coin in and go again.

It was almost… endearing.

“You’re terrible,” I snorted. My voice came out a little warmer and less teasing than I’d meant.

Her eyebrows flew up. I expected a bite or a snarky remark, but she only shrugged in a self-deprecating way, like she knew it, too. I smothered a chuckle on my palm, but the smile wouldn’t budge.

“Are you trying to intimidate me? If so, sod off,” she jeered, her tone only a little on the mean side.

Her eyes stayed glued to the screen, and her scowl tried for menacing and landed closer to… adorable.

Not that I’d ever admit that out loud.

“No, I was just curious,” I wanted to say, but the admission felt dangerous, like it would hand her ammunition.

“Maybe,” I drawled. Intergalactic bugs circled her little ship on the screen as she jabbed at buttons.

Click, click, click.

“Is it working? Is that why you suck?” I teased. My voice lacked bite, sounding almost… playful. My jaw stiffened, molars grinding as if I could quash it through sheer force.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” She snorted. “I’m perfectly capable of screwing it up without your help.”

A self-deprecating laugh chased her admission, dragging a genuine chuckle from my chest, and pulling the skin around my eyes into crinkles.