#just to bump up the noco fic count

[noco7]

nocovember prompt 2

they’re in an arcade, and i changed my writing style in an ode to “A Concert for Twenty Fingers” a noco fic I read early into my noco obsession

It’s the 27th of June, 2009, and I’m in a lousy arcade, everything neon, loud, and overwhelming. "This one's for you babe," Cody repeats for the millionth time. There's a mini basketball in his hand, obnoxious red sunglasses perched on his head, and an unearned grin on his face.

Maybe I’d be appreciative if he hadn’t missed every shot he's taken.

I snort. "Unless your aim has magically gotten better, doubt it.”

Cody shoots. The basketball bounces off the rim and thuds against the cracked plastic base of the machine, rolling back down pathetically - like it too knows how futile it is. Cody scoops it back up. 

"Okay, maybe not that one. But this *next* one's for you babe," Cody promises again. 

I just let my arched eyebrows answer for me, and lean against the machine. You might be wondering why I’m here, and that’s a good question. I don’t like arcades. Which might seem odd, given my well-documented love for video games. But there’s a huge difference between playing a challenging game in the comfort of my own home with a fascinating and complex story, and spending a few miserable minutes playing one cheap tacky game after another, surrounded by chattering children and their screaming parents. So no thank you. The actual answer to the question is that my boyfriend dragged me here, and since I had chosen the last date location - a respectable library filled with soft lights and even softer sounds, it was now Cody’s turn. And of course, he would choose something as juvenile as an arcade. The only blessing was, and not to be unbearably cheesy, that Cody was here with me. It was entertaining to see him fail every game he tried, in a sort of America’s Funniest Home videos way. But even Cody’s slapstick humor had its limits. I’d gotten bored after his first five throws. Hopefully, this whole ordeal would end soon, and we could go back to better things, like making out. Hey, just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m not a teenage boy! But instead of doing anything fun like that, I was left tapping my foot, a spectator to failure. If I had been the one throwing the balls, it would have ended after the first missed throw. I don’t have much tolerance for my own failure. Which sounds a little perfectionist, but I’m far from being Courtney. I just know when to stop. Cody doesn’t. Yet, paradoxically, seeing my boyfriend fail almost made me want to try. It was probably the lack of real competition, I decided. Jocks, with their lean-and-mean dispositions and their unattainable strength, had always left me a little intimidated. But Cody, sweet pathetic, Cody was reassuring in his mediocrity.  No matter what the red SUPREME logo on his shirt says, there was practically nothing supreme about him. And that was comforting. Perhaps we could try this game again, and I might actually win something non-academic for the first time in my life.

Another miss, another thud. Cody’s grin falters, only to return as quick as it left. It’s good to know that my boyfriend isn’t completely oblivious to his own failure, but I can’t help but feel a little mournful. This is probably how it felt to see Icarus’s wings melt. He shoots again, and the kids walking past us laugh. I’m filled with the growing dread that I have gotten with a *loser*, and worse that people can tell. It’s not that I’m one of those pretentious twinks who set their sights high on the most alpha of men, and for all his flaws, Cody satisfied me well enough in that department - *but*, and this was a big one, it was something different when other people commented on it. I might be satisfied dating a wannabe, but it was another to have people *think* that it was the best I could do. And I know, I know, that when it came to worries, this was one of the most shallow, that I should be grateful to have a guy into me in the first place, let alone a cute one. Still, I stepped away from the machine, distancing myself. Another promise, the words faltering this time. Another miss. It’s as if Cody wasn’t aiming for the machine at all, but my heart. For a moment I consider if this is some pity play level of manipulation, and just as quickly I discard the thought. Cody isn’t the type. There are only a few seconds left. At this point, I’m not quite sure if Cody actually believes he can achieve something, or is just falling victim to the sunken-cost fallacy. The line between dumb optimism and stubborn determination is a bit blurry when it comes to my boyfriend.

Cody rubs the next basketball into his jacket, caressing it like a good-luck charm. As if that’s going to do anything.

I can’t bear to look. "I DID IT!"

I have only a millisecond to take it in, to recognize that satisfying swish sound for what it is, to realize that Cody has indeed ‘did it’, and then I’m being grabbed by Cody’s hands, my sides squeezed, enveloped in the warmth of success.

The sudden rush of happiness takes me off guard.

"Put me down!"

Cody beams at me, and I’m compelled to smile back. It’s hard not to give in to instincts, when, and forgive me dear readers once again for being corny, my boyfriend smiles with the force of the sun. Eventually, he puts me down though I could have used more time in the air.

"Congratulations,” I say. “You landed one shot and now you think you're LeBron. Should we get out the gatorade for you? Really celebrate the-" I look past him and at the scoreboard. "Three points you got? The top score is 54 by the way." I know I’m being mean, but I can’t help it. I can’t stay long in the garden of Eden, no matter how much I try.

Thankfully, Cody is used to it. "Yeah yeah,” he says, still high on glory. “Scoff all you want, but I still got the points. And *you* didn't."

"Because I wasn't trying." I point out.

"Miss every shot you don't take," Cody says, wagging a finger. "It's my personal motto."

I scoffed. "With your history, I think you could stand to take a little less shots." Gwen is a stunning example.

Cody frowns, but he doesn't say anything and for once, I choose not to elaborate. We’ve argued about Gwen too many times already, and it gets personal fast. Besides, we’re surrounded by people. If we argued about it here, we’d look like one of those couples, one month and already on the brink of divorce, so full of hatred that it seeps out of the private and into the public. I don’t want to be one of those people.

"You know," Cody says finally. "As your champion-"

"As my champion?" I echo. Champion? It was one shot.

"As your champion," Cody repeats, and that’s his stubbornness coming through as always, - "I think I should get a kiss." He waggles his eyebrows. "You know, as a reward."

"We're. In. Public." I say, gesturing at the space around us. It couldn't be clearer. Even if Cody was blind, which he wasn’t, it'd be hard to miss the demented chatter of children and their high-pitched screeches of laughter. I had to wonder if parents had stopped teaching their kids manners. The newer generation was truly lost.

"Riight," Cody says, and then he grabbed my wrist, steering me behind a nearby machine, and oh. It's darker here, where the neon lights can't reach, and it’s like the world has slipped away.

Cody's blue eyes meet mine. It’s hard for them not to, not in a space like this where there’s nothing else to look at, and there’s hardly any room between us.  "No one can see us here," he says, voice low, before his eyes dip even lower.

I feel like a virgin. I’m not, for your information. I’ve kissed guys and girls alike, and I’ve even kissed Cody a few times too, and yet butterflies still flap their wings in my stomach. It’s the taboo delight of doing something you shouldn’t, and I’m human enough to recognize it. 

"Okay," I said, my voice coming out more breathy than I liked. I darted forward to kiss my boyfriend, who rises up to meet me. Did I mention that he’s still shorter than me? Because I should. My boyfriend is a manlet, or as he prefers to call it, a ‘short-king’. But he proves his worth, his hands moving instantly to pull me close, clutching me tight as if I were planning to escape. But I’m not, and I don’t want to, not when his lips are pressing against mine, not when his hands are warm and roaming my body. My champion, indeed, I think.

Still. We’re in the middle of an arcade, so I break away before it can get too steamy. Cody pouts - like always, but I’m not going to give in. Unlike some people, I don't want to get charged with public indecency.

"When you think about it, I got three points,” Cody says, already leaning back in.  “So I should get three kisses, total. Just makes sense."

I give him my best unimpressed stare.

"It makes mathematical sense," he protests, flinging his arms out in dramatic flair, only to bang his hand on the back of the machine.  “Ow!” I snort. "And now you're going to say that you're injured, and I should kiss it better?"

Cody pauses. "I mean you said it, not me."

“The lighting must have gotten you confused Cody.” I roll my eyes. “This is an arcade, not a nightclub. We're here to play games, not play with each other."

Now it's his turn to laugh. "I mean you weren't playing much of anything back there. Come to think of it, you don't play most games at all. I mean remember the dodgeball?" "Be quiet." I hiss. Not the dodgeball episode. Not that stupid episode.

"Make me," Cody smirks. "With your mouth, preferably."

My boyfriend is a menace. Strike out dumb optimism, it was now sheer gall.

"I mean, you said I had no aim," he continues. "But I did get two girls out. And Harold didn't hit anyone with the ball, and he still-"

I kiss him just to shut him up, and I can feel Cody's smile against my mouth. Bastard.

"Keep talking,” I say, “and I'll never kiss you again."

"Yes sir!" Cody salutes.

Have to maintain order somehow.

"Can’t help trying to kiss my boyfriend whenever I get the chance. “ He smiles, showing off the gap between his teeth. “Sorry." Despite the cocky nature of the words, his look is a little too earnest for it to be some joke.

The sincerity makes me stumble over my own words. "I - I guess. Whatever." I avert my gaze, making sure he can’t see my cheeks, just in case they look less like normal human skin, and more like ripe tomatoes.  As if Cody needed any more proof that I liked him. And that made me doubly glad for the privacy of our dusty little nook - *no one* could tell. I didn’t need people thinking I was some blushing anime boy, or a tsundere, or anything else saccharine and banal that fangirls liked. As if! When I looked back up, I was met with Cody’s smile. "Whore,” I blurt out.

Cody chokes in laughter.

"Let's get back to playing those games," I state. Maintain order. I brush my hair out of my face and head back into the rest of the arcade. "Can't wait to spend fifty dollars in tokens to get three stickers and a temp tattoo of a mouse."