Chapter Text
“Are you serious?!” Twyla yelled, staring with furrowed brows at the “Game Over” screen on the arcade machine. Chris snickered and covered it with a cough when Twyla whipped her head around to glare daggers at him. He turns to her.
“I told you, you shoulda used your special,” Chris tuts. “Though I think that’s enough arcade time for today…” He reaches over to grab her arm to drag her away, but she swats his hand away and leans back over the arcade machine— shoving a pretty penny into the coin slot. Chris makes a gesture as if he frowned and intended Twyla to see it, looking over her shoulder.
“Look, we can lose this game on another supply run,” Chris says. “but we gotta focus, man.” Twyla grumbles, before suddenly grabbing his arm and jumping back— dragging him into her previous spot in front of the machine. He coughs.
“Really, man?”
“Yes, really! If you’re so good, you take a crack at it, smartass.” She sneers, leaning back and crossing her arms. Chris gives her a look, and cracks his shoulder,
“Fine.” He says. Chris grabs the joystick, beginning to play the game. It’s a fighting game, from what he’s seen of it. The most uncanny bit is that the players in the game resemble him and the other unwilling sods stuck here. It’s likely the fault of that Rust Freak but still, it’s odd. A loud ding comes from the machine when he beats a round.
“Hey, what do I get if I beat this shit anyways?” He questions,
“..I’ll give you a smooch.” Suddenly, a succession of dings come from the arcade machine. Twyla’s face drops as her face turns bright red in fluster. Chris meanwhile, is completely locked onto the screen.
“W-what the hell?!” She sputters, staring wide eyed as he nearly speeds through the arcade game. Soon enough, a load of tickets rumble and print out of the machine as the screen flashes a “You Win” visual. He turns to Twyla, and even with his lack if not absence of facial expressions— she can tell he has a shit eating grin on right now.
“So?” Chris plainly says, standing up and turning fully towards her. Twyla groans, her face still beet red, before she steps closer— placing her hands on his shoulders and leaning in for a kiss. A slow, intimate kiss; his arms snake their way around her waist to deepen their touch. After what feels like hours, they pull away from each other, Twyla slightly panting. Still looking at Chris’s blank static face.