33. Arcade Date
Its a lazy Sunday afternoon, and I am very very bored. Xavier insisted he'd cook something delicious, while I just sat on the kitchen counter and watching him cook.
When he said that he'd cook I expected him to wear an apron or something, but not stand there shirtless and cook.
Its the most romantic thing a man could do for his woman— and now that I see it, Xavier Hayes indeed is the most romantic man on earth.
At first, I always expected love that would come through poems, gifts, and art. But, i didn't expect that it'd come like this.
He may or may not be expressive, but when he said those words back in the locker room, I realized that I don't need someone who'd give me grand gestures. I needed someone who'd understand me, and look at me the way he does.
Last night he confessed that the pink roses he gave me was because it reminded him the shade of my lips? Seriously how romantic is that?
I see him cutting vegetables with precision, his fingers working with practiced ease.
He's actually too good at this.
"Xav," I walk to and hug him, "Je t'aime." I press my cheek against his back.
(I love you.)
He turns back to me, "I love you more." The smile on his face makes his face glow.
"You look handsome when you smile." I cup his face in my hands. "Is that so?" He asks me, smiling even wider.
"Mhmm, you look cute." I stand on my toes and press a soft kiss on his nose.
"Well, good thing this smile is only yours, Swan." He lifts me in his arms and places me on the kitchen counter. He traps me in with his arms.
"What about the food?" I ask him, even though my arms find his neck.
"Oh, it's almost done. Just need to let it cook for 10 minutes. Till then I'll admire my beautiful girlfriend." He leans closer and presses a kiss to the corner of my lips.
I raise my brows in a playful way. "Why don't you take me out on a date then, Mr. Hayes?"
"Hmm, sure." He brushes a strand of my hair, gently. "Where do you want to go?"
"Can we go to a..." I pause, frowning as I search for the word in English. "Gosh, what's that place where you play games and uh—" I wave my hands vaguely.
He tilts his head, amused. "An arcade?"
──────????°? ? ?°?? ??──────
We step into the arcade, the neon lights flickering over everything like it's alive. But honestly? It could've been the dullest place on earth and still felt perfect—because he's here.
With him everything feels worth it.
"Come!" I grab his wrist, weaving us through the crowd. He actually lets me pull him, which makes me grin. "Let's play... air hockey!"
"Are you sure you're ready to lose, Swan?" His smirk is pure arrogance, like he's already written the score in his head.
"Oh, please. If anything, you're the one who's going to lose to me."
"I already lost to you, Amara," he says, his voice low and sincere. "You're the winner after all."
I snort, because a few hours ago, this same man had rolled his eyes when I asked him to wear matching clothes. "Wow. This from the guy who argued with me just because I wanted us to match?" I wag my finger at him. "Now you're out here saying sweet nothings?"
Yes, so apparently i made Xavier Hayes match clothes with me. Its such a cute thing to do once you've found your love.
He first said no, but then I somehow convinced him with kisses and well.. more kisses and cuddles.
I am wearing a white tank top and a black skirt, paired with my favorite black knees high boots and he is in a white tee, with black jeans and black sneakers.
So yeah, we are matching.
we look super cute.
"Don't mistake my sincere words for sweet nothings, Swan." His voice drops just enough to make me fold. "When I say something to you, Amara, it's because I mean it. I don't say just for the sake of talking."
"Fine," I mutter, recovering fast. "Then when I say I'm about to destroy you in air hockey, I mean that too."
His smirk sharpens. "We'll see about that."
We take our spots at the air hockey table, the bright neon lights reflecting in his dark eyes. I grip my mallet, leaning forward like I'm preparing for battle. "Ready to lose?" I ask sweetly.
"Ready to watch you try." He smirks, sliding the puck to me with a little too much force.
The game starts fast and he's quick, not gonna lie. But, every time he scores, I score twice. His jaw tightens, his brows furrow, and by the halfway mark, I know I've got him.
"Eyes on the puck, Ring Lord." I tease as I land my final goal.
The scoreboard flashes 7–3 in my favor.
I throw my arms up in victory. "And that's how you humble a boxer."
He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "I let you win."
"Oh, sure," I mock-gasp. "Because you're such a generous soul." I lean across the table just enough for him to see my smirk. "Face it, you've been dethroned by a ballerina."
His lips twitch like he's fighting a smile, but he shakes his head. "This isn't over."
We move deeper into the arcade, weaving through the crowd until the neon-lit basketball game catches my eye.
"Ooh, this one!" I grin, grabbing his wrist again and tugging him closer
Xavier eyes the hoop like it's a real court. "Finally, something I can actually win at."
I arch a brow. "Bold of you to assume."
The game starts, the timer ticking down as the machine spits out balls. Xavier's form is perfect—tall frame, broad shoulders, muscles flexing under the white tee I made him wear to match me.
His shots sink cleanly into the net, one after the other. Unfortunately for him... so do mine.
By the last ten seconds, we're neck and neck, the machine going wild as the points rack up. I take a deep breath, launch my final shot, and watch it swish in right as the buzzer blares.
Final score: Amara – 52. Xavier – 48.
"Yes!" I jump in place, pumping my fist in the air. "Another victory for me."
Xavier stares at the scoreboard, his jaw tightening in disbelief.
"What's the point of being so tall if you can't even win in basketball?" I tease, walking over with a grin.
"The point is..." His voice drops low, and before I can react, he hooks his hands around my waist and lifts me clean off the ground.
"Xavier!" I squeal, laughing as he easily places me on a nearby stool, so close my knees brush against his sides.
"The point," he says, leaning in with a smirk, "is that being tall means I can do this."
I roll my eyes, but my cheeks are burning. "You're just trying to distract from the fact that you lost... again."
He rests his hands on the stool, caging me in. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like having you at my height for once, Swan."
The way he says it—low, warm, and entirely too smooth—makes my heart trip over itself. I shove at his chest, laughing to cover the flutter in my stomach. "Come on. Let's find our next game before you start crying."
He shakes his head, but he follows me anyway.
The next game I drag him to a retro racing setup, two side-by-side seats with bright steering wheels and blaring music.
"Hope you're ready to eat my dust." I say, dropping into the seat and selecting the fastest car on the screen.
He slides in beside me, cool as ever. "You've got confidence, Swan. I'll give you that. But in the ring or on the road, I don't lose."
The countdown hits zero. We both launch forward, twisting through sharp turns, dodging traffic, and hitting speed boosts. Xavier is good—really good—but he underestimates how many hours I've spent glued to my laptop playing racing games.
On the last stretch, I slam into a turbo pad and zoom past him just as the finish line flashes across the screen.
Winner: Player Two.
I throw my arms up in victory. "That's me! Player Two! Victory tastes so sweet."
Xavier leans back in his seat, jaw tight, eyes on the "Game Over" screen like it's personally insulted him.
"Aww," I croon, turning to him, "is the Ring Lord sulking right now?"
"I'm not sulking." he says flatly, still not looking at me.
I climb out of my seat and stand in front of him, tilting my head until I catch his eyes. "Yes, you are.
"Don't lie." I Wrap my arms around his neck, and press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, then another to his cheek.
"Alright, fine! Let's play something that has no winning. Pleaseeee?" I pout dramatically, rocking us side to side.
He exhales, but doesn't push me away when I tug his hand. "What is it?"
I drag him to a cozy corner of the arcade where there's a small table with a glass jar full of folded chits. A sign above reads: Pick a chit, answer the question.
I plop into the chair, grinning at him. "No competition. Just honesty. Easy, right?"
"You've never made anything easy, Swan."
"C'mon," I grin, already pulling the first chit. I unfold it and read aloud, "If you could relive one day of your life, what would it be?"
He leans back in his chair, pretending to think hard. "The day I lose six arcade games in a row."
I roll my eyes. "Seriously."
His gaze softens, and he says quietly, "The day we got stuck in storage room together."
When he asked me to dance with him.
That makes my heart do somersaults. I quickly grab another chit before I melt into a puddle on the floor. "Okay... oh—this one's good. What's your guilty pleasure?"
He smirks instantly. "Kissing you when you're trying to be mad at me."
"Ugh, you're insufferable." I toss a chit at him, and he catches it effortlessly.
He opens it and reads, "Describe the other person in three words."
He doesn't hesitate. "Mine. Mine. Mine."
I was about to say, "Funny, charming and arrogant." But then never-mind.
My cheeks burn, and I duck my head, pretending to rummage for another chit so he doesn't see my stupid grin.
"Well, this question is random, but do these boots ring a bell to you?" I say lifting my foot slightly, showing him.
These were the same pair of boots which I wore back then when Clara and I decided to spy on Sophie and Kai but ended up stumbling up on Xavier.
I had bristled, cheeks hot, convinced he was mocking me. Seeking attention, he'd accused, and I'd wanted to snap at him right there.
But now, in the arcade glow, he ran a hand through his hair and said quietly, "Ah right... I remember."
His tone softens, the playful edge slipping away. "I... I was annoyed, you know. A few guys were staring at you and I was pissed off. No woman deserves to be ogled like that.."
The memory of that night reshapes itself in my head. Back then, I only hear mockery—the jab about my dress, the accusation that I'm seeking attention. But now I see the way his jaw is tight, the way his eyes don't leave me.
I hadn't even noticed people staring at me back then because I was prolly busy arguing with Clara.
His gaze flicks back to me, sharper now, grounding. "You don't see what I see, Amara. You walk into a room, and people notice. They always will. And it drives me crazy when they look at you like you're... like you're something they can take."
I whisper, "I'm not something to be taken."
"You're right," he says. His voice is low, deliberate. "You're someone to be chosen and I did."
"Yeah, you did." I smile.
And I chose you.
"Anyways.. your chance." I tell him.
He nods, takes a chit and reads out, "One thing you're bad at."
"Uhm.." I think for a second.
"I know what it is," he smiles, "raising one of your brow."
"Huh?" I look at him with widened eyes.
"I notice it, Amara. The way you try to raise one of your brow- its cute actually. It was probably the first small detail i ever noticed about you and now I guess i cant stop seeing it."
Was it that noticeable? I mean sure, I always wanted to try on how people lift or raise an eyebrow. Clara can do it, so can he, and even between ballet classes I wonder how Madame Dubois does it. It looks cool as if you have control and authority over a particular situation when you lift your brow.
"Wow, well.. uhm, ask another one." I say clearing my throat, and gaining back my composure.
"What was your first impression of me?" He asks me.
Annoying, arrogant and mean.
"An arrogant boxer who thought that the world revolved around him." I say with a shrug.
"And now?" He asks, as if this answer might be any similar.
I let my smile curve slowly. "Now? My arrogant boxer knows his world revolves around me."
For a second, he just stares—like I've knocked the wind out of him without even touching him. He straightens slightly. "I... I have a gift for you." His hand slips into his pocket, and he pulls out a small box.
My breath hitches.
He opens it to reveal a delicate swan pendant—its body shaped from silver, and in the center, a deep sapphire that catches the light like it's holding the ocean inside.
"May I?" he asks softly, the box still open in his palm.
I nod, my throat suddenly tight. He steps closer, and for once, there's no teasing smirk, no cocky grin—just that rare, unguarded look that makes my chest ache.
He lifts the necklace with careful fingers, the cool brush of metal grazing my skin as he fastens it behind my neck. His hands linger for a second longer than necessary, fingertips ghosting over my collarbone before he steps back.
"It's beautiful." I whisper, glancing down at the tiny sapphire swan resting against my skin.
"So is the one wearing it." he murmurs, his voice so low it's almost lost to the hum of the arcade around us.
I touch the pendant lightly, my fingers lingering over the cool sapphire, but before I can speak, his voice pulls me in.
"You know what I think about sometimes?" he says, almost as if he's letting me in on a secret. "That one day, years from now, I'll forget the sound of certain voices, certain places. But I know I'll never forget the way you look at me right now."
My breath catches, and he smiles — that rare, quiet smile that makes me feel like the only person in the world.
"I don't need forever from you, Amara," he murmurs, the neon glow catching his profile, painting him in reds and blues. "Just promise me tomorrow... and I'll spend every sunrise proving I'm still worthy of it. That I'm still worthy of you."
Something inside me melts and steadies at once. "I love you, Xavier." Just as I say it, the machine next to us flashes a burst of white light spilling across my face.
"I love you more, Amara." His eyes soften.