“Where is he?” I say under my breath. I don’t even go to arcades -- especially ones that are open for twenty-four hours. “It’s like a maze in here. How am I going to be able to find a below-average-height nineteen-year-old?” Behind that weird looking Wheel of Whatever I’m pacing away from that apparently gives you free tickets? Most likely not. (Alex isn’t THAT greedy.)

“How was I even supposed to know he likes video games?” I mutter. "The only few things he ever talks about with is fandom, anime, and food.” I fasten my pace between each lane of this maze-like arcade looking for a short brown-skinned guy with brown hair with bleached tips, an oversized sweatshirt, and ripped jeans. That’s all I need from this labyrinth, then I can leave.

Oh, wait. I actually need to look for a drunk version of Alex. Shit. Alex has eccentric ideas when he’s drunk. He’s probably already left without me and decided to hook up with a random guy on the street. No, a random HOMELESS guy.

My hands automatically wrap around my head and I start to anxiously bite the inside of my cheek. “Why wouldn’t he want to hook up with me?” I whine a little too loudly. The couple at the Donkey Kong game looks at me judgingly. “Sorry,” I apologize, and self-consciously wrap my arms around my stomach. “I shouldn’t even be worried about if he’s going to hook up with me or not,” I now mutter to myself, sounding abruptly melancholy. “I should be worried if he left or not. Especially, since I have the key to the-”

“This game is rigged!”

His familiar voice -- and commentary -- draws my eyes to the Pac-Man game, and to the player. Alex.I walk down the lane to and I ignore everyone that’s staring at me (and the chair on the ground). Then, I nervously say, “N-now, there’s no reason you should have a grudge against a game. Right, Alex?” Both of his hands fall to his side and immediately jolt right back up to clutch around my neck as his head is pressing into my chest. This catches me off-guard, but, eventually,I wrap my arms around his torso and pull him in. The smell of vanilla and alcohol washes over me. Surprisingly a good mixture of fragrance, when it comes to me.

“I thought I fucking lost you.” he mutter quietly so only I am able to hear him.

“Well, then. I guess both of us received the ‘Target Acquired’ achievement today.”

Alex pulls away and says to me with a straight face, “Don’t make video game references when we’re at an arcade. It’s weird.” I gulp with fear. (Piercings on his face and ears don’t help make his appearance look less intimidating.) Then, his lips turn into a smirk. “I’m kidding!” he says as he tumbles and trips past me to the exit.

“Man, I really don’t like drunk Alex.” I say to myself and start to walk beside him. He lightly elbows in me in the gut. “I heard that!” His hazel eyes squint as he grins at me under the fluorescent lights.

He immediately grabs my hand and pulls me forward as he scurries to the door. “Come on, slowpoke! I want to go home!” His voice is cheerful for once. I can literally hear all the joy. It makes me so happy I could kiss him. Maybe I should, when he isn't drunk. (Or at least when he sobers up, I can't wait any longer.) I catch up to him and together we open the doors and laugh our way down the sidewalk. I haven’t heard him laugh since . . . he happened. Maybe Drunk Alex has a few good things about him.

“I’m glad.” I say and stop walking when we’re under a streetlight. Alex pulls at my hand and stops walking and turns to face me. “What do you mean?” he asks, clenching my hand. Right, I think to myself, we’re still holding hands. “I’m glad you’re finally laughing again.”

“Should I stop?”

“No,”

“Why not?”

“Because I like to see you happy.”

He doesn’t respond. His eyes gaze at me with confusion, his head slightly tilted to one side. I pull him closer, my free hand on his hip, and crane my neck further down to look at him directly. His eyes widen and his cheeks turn into a tomato color. I feel my cheeks start to burn.

“Because, . . .” I sigh, and lean further into him. I can almost hear Marcus loud and clear in the background yelling, Come on, Ben! Do it! Do it! “Because, . . . I want to kiss you. But more importantly,” the hand that was holding Alex’s is now on his cheek, my thumb on his cheek and my fingers looped behind his pierced ear. “I want to be with you for the rest of your life.”

I press my forehead against his and his face turns into a bright-red under the lit streetlight. (It’s bright enough that you’d be able to tell the redness of his cheeks even when you moved him into the darkness surrounding us.)

“Are you sure you’re not the one that’s drunk?” he asks, his cheeks getting redder and redder by the second.

I smile. Then, I caress his cheek with my thumb, and close my eyes to kiss him softly. “Yeah.”