Robbie wasn’t unintelligent, but he had a debilitating fear of hard work and all things ordinary, so he was, as was his everyday routine, shuffling through boxes of fresh stock rather than bothering to tidy whatever stale stuff was already on the shelves. He was a self-proclaimed connoisseur of music, particularly anything performed by men with hair as uncontrollably large and frizzy as his own, and was certain there had to be a solo stage with his name on it somewhere in the world. His beady brown irises were immediately drawn towards a bound stack of Metallica records, but his enthusiastically thundering heart had its hopes dampened almost instantly as he discovered the absence of their newest release. He had been eagerly awaiting its arrival, much like a puppy sitting by the front door desperate for its human to return. Unfortunately, it seemed he would have to wait a little longer. Sighing, he filtered through a range of pop records with prominent disinterest, tucked away AC/DC’s ‘Blow Up Your Video’ album with the intention of collecting it after hours, likely without paying, and moved onto the next box, totally oblivious to the curious gaze lingering on his features.

After scrummaging through the second box like a starved man digging through trash, Robbie made sure to hastily observe his surroundings, to double check his boss hadn’t meandered into the storeroom and caught him slacking off, as was an admittedly regular occurrence. A familiar figure leaned lackadaisically in the doorway. Alarmed, Robbie’s feet shot off the floor. His wild brown locks seemed to expand as the air lifted each strand. A red reminiscent of a sunburn in summer erupted from the peaks of his cheeks.

“You’re hopeless, dude,” Kurt said, stifling his laughter with a cupped hand. He reached out to collect a fallen collection of already damaged records and popped them upright. Every single one of his fingers was adorned with a chunky silver ring. Some were frighteningly sharp. 

Robbie exhaled loudly, relieved, and dropped back into a squat to continue searching for some kind of musical treasure, anything that might be out of the ordinary. It had been far too long since he had last struck gold. He felt like he was surely advancing towards victory. Any day now. The mundane nature of this store was well overdue for some excitement. “Just mind the door, would you? If Brian catches me in here again, he’s kicking me to the curb.”

“If you’re so worried about losing your job, you could try - I don’t know - actually working?” 

“Have you ever considered dropping the college stuff for a career in comedy?” Robbie retorted. He tossed a box full of cassettes aside as if they were completely trivial, just a bunch of worthless, tiny bricks. He detested the things, because they were indicators that the world was moving on from the majesty of old school, classic rock. Moving on from him. “If you’re just going to stand there judging my choices, I’d rather not have your company. I can judge my own choices just fine. In fact, I’m incredibly judgemental. I’m like one of those sporty dads with a son who prefers academics, only I’m directing the disappointment right at myself.”

Kurt rolled his eyes at this dramatic - albeit expected - statement. He had very pretty eyes, the irises a combination of sky-blue and storm cloud grey, the pupils permanently dilated and mysterious. Sadly, it was difficult to notice the splendour of these two jewels on his face, because it was nearly impossible not to stare directly at the upturned, dog-like point of his nose. Robbie was the only one who never gazed directly into the abyss of such crooked nostrils, as his attention was most often fixated on the enviable height of Kurt’s hair. It was marvellous. A mountain of fluff and silk and hairspray.

With too much on his mind to simply turn tail and run, Kurt crouched down beside his friend and started rummaging through old stock, too. “Are you coming tonight?”

“Obviously,” Robbie responded, nearly scoffing at the stupidity of such a question. He tossed some plastic packaging over his shoulder. It fluttered through the air like gracefully tumbling snow, and then draped itself over an entire shelf, obscuring the products. “You guys wouldn’t get past one level without my help. My magic is the only reason we can get through unscathed.”

“You’re so right. And I really, really wish you weren’t. God, I want to put you on your ass right now.”

Robbie laughed. It was a melodic sound, a chorus of birds chirping their morning song. “You did that once or twice back when we were still in school, so honestly, I think it’s only fair that you’re stuck in the purgatory of tolerating my arrogance. It’s this lovely little thing called karma.”

“You could’ve avoided my wrath altogether if you hadn’t flunked your senior year twice. And maybe if you weren’t such a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, as if, man. You would’ve found your way to me somehow. You and your little goons would’ve sniffed out my lack of popularity like a pack of damn police hounds.”

It wasn’t that Robbie was unlikeable, or that his nerdiness was too boisterously publicised. The reality was simply that he had been struck down with a personality consisting of smartass humour and outrageous wit, and that most people were incapable of handling him, incapable of comprehending the many levels to his jokes, the manner in which they could tell a story just as cleverly as a feature-length film. The running gag had always been that he had replaced his ability to perform academically with a vocabulary of cheeky words, ideas and mannerisms. He was a year older than Kurt, but after having been kept back a grade (the first time), the two had ultimately come into contact. Kurt had wanted to pummel Robbie and his painfully garrulous nature straight into the dirt, and he did, deservedly, but as the years flew by, he had grown to love him, just a little bit - just a lot, actually. Not that he’d ever admit it. To anyone. Ever.

Robbie smirked as he shuffled through records like they were a winning hand of cards. A streak of sunlight filtered through the storeroom’s tiny window, turning his irises a magnificent shade of amber. There truly was a magical quality to him. “Are the others going to be there? Al skipped out on us last time.”

“Micky will definitely be there - he always is. You know that guy has literally nothing better to do. But Al, well, who knows? He hardly has time to breathe these days. Last time I saw him, he was running with two briefcases, a tray of coffees, and his suit pants were unbuttoned. He looked like he’d stumbled straight out of some badly written sitcom.”

“Jesus, he’s like a slave to the corporate world. Poor kid may as well have sold his soul to the law.”

A distant sadness flickered across Kurt’s eyes, swift and nearly incomprehensible. Perhaps he missed his friend, or maybe he was jealous of his enduring determination. Either way, he knew they wouldn’t find ease in any level without Al. And he knew there was a strange sense of longing trapped inside his heart. It ached. Prodded. Screamed. It bothered him to no end. Just not enough to mention. “I hope he’s there. We need him.”

Robbie shrugged, oblivious. To his left, he had now accumulated a massive stack of records that he planned to borrow (steal). To his right were a disorganised pile of cassettes he wished he could toss onto a burning pyre. “We’re not the only ones who need him these days. I don’t think an arcade game sits at the top of his list of priorities.”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Not only was Al the youngest of the quartet, but he was also the smartest, and the most dedicated to securing a future founded upon financial comfort and authoritative prowess. He worked numerous casual jobs on minimum wage in an attempt to tackle the spiralling debt introduced by his college degree, because his parents had very little to offer in the way of funding, and spent much of his time running ridiculous errands as an intern for a substantially powerful law firm. The boys occasionally saw him at the arcade, often so late at night that the streets were empty, but he was otherwise engaged with a variety of more demanding tasks, usually alongside far more important individuals. They were all proud of his efforts. They all knew what it meant to him to work hard and show his gratitude to his family. Yet, it was still far too infuriating having to tackle a level without him.

Kurt’s knees cracked as he returned to his feet. He wasn’t very tall, but his hulking muscle created an illusion of towering height, especially beside Robbie, who was all long, lanky limbs and protruding bones, a tower made of wood rather than stone. “I’m crossing my fingers. The kid deserves a break, or at least a short distraction, and the rest of us - well, we need all the help we can get,” he said, slowly pacing towards the exit. He flicked a bell dangling above the door and immediately winced at the shrillness of its ringing. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Immersed in his desperate search for new music, Robbie hardly even glanced at him. “Oh, yeah, man. Totally. For sure. Later.”

The arcade was right across the street from the video rental store, Blockbuster Video, and both were owned by the same middle-aged man, a balding grump who somewhat ironically despised any human under the age of fifteen and hadn’t yet managed to destroy his entire career with such an idiosyncrasy. Much to the amusement of the quartet, Robbie’s secondary job was at this particular video rental store (if flirting via saucy film recommendations could be considered a job), and therefore allowed him unauthorised access to a set of keys, one, of course, belonging to the arcade’s back door, an entrance designated for staff use only. So, as was the norm, he was the first to arrive on the scene that night, and fluttered between games until the others slowly rolled through the double doors he had so kindly unlocked for them.

Micky, his sandy blonde perm bouncing with every step, approached with an enormously dorky grin and a fistful of Chocodiles. Since dropping out of college on account of a business degree being far too mundane, he had gained a few pounds and had somehow managed to heighten his immaturity. He was hopeless, but he always meant well, and women fawned over the steely blue of his eyes. Robbie couldn't blame them. They were a damn nice pair of eyes.

“Thy elf hath arrived-eth!” Micky bellowed, chocolate clinging to his lower lip. His denim vest was dotted with the faintest of sticky brown stains. The pocket was adorned with holes from the day he had ripped off a Mötley Crüe patch. He intended to replace it, but sewing was not exactly his specialty. Nothing really was.

Robbie grinned, almost every pearly tooth on view. It was easy to overlook his nerdiness when he smiled, because he was uniquely handsome, and his warmth was unrivalled. “Every single day I wonder how you actually managed to get into college in the first place,” he said through a bout of soft laughter.

Kurt strolled through the doors, his timing impeccable. His hair had somehow grown even larger in the span of a few hours, just an endless assemblage of feathers glued to his scalp, and he wore a vest far tidier than his companion. He did, after all, have a set of basic human skills and the influence of a decently respectable family behind him. “Charity case,” he stated, chuckling. 

“Like you can talk. The only reason you can afford to go to college is because your scholarship covers most of it,” Micky retorted, leaning against an out-of-order machine. “Not all of us can literally wrestle our way to a free ride.”

The boys had formed a habit of making fun of Kurt’s wrestling background, mostly because of the ill-fitted uniform he had adorned in the championship match of his senior year. The fabric had been so ridiculously tight that a smidgen of his nether regions had slipped out to greet a crowd of parents and underage admirers. Although he had won, quickly and easily and with amazing grace, the school’s memory of him certainly did not revolve around his athleticism, and his friends had agreed to never let him forget it. It was no surprise that the cabinet in the school’s largest hallway lacked the newspaper clipping detailing his victory. The photograph probably could have been considered child pornography. 

Kurt playfully smacked Micky’s arm with an intentionally limp wrist. Still, he was so absurdly robust that even a soft flick felt like an angered punch, so his friend lost his footing and awkwardly stumbled a few paces in the opposite direction.

Incredulous, Micky rubbed his arm and shook his head. Then, he tried to regain the few remaining shreds of his dignity by shifting the topic of conversation. “You guys have any clue if Al is going to drop by tonight? I haven’t seen that cute face of his in yonks.”

Robbie mindlessly fiddled with a joystick. “He’s probably working late again. If I were him, I’d be going straight home to bed, not wasting time with a bunch of tragic losers.”

“I wouldn’t blame him for ditching you two, but I think I’m pretty cool,” Kurt retorted. 

“You’re not even on the cool scale, bud. You’re standing in an arcade at five minutes past midnight, waiting to fiddle with two buttons and a stick just so you can play as a warrior named Thor.”

Kurt scoffed. “The warrior is literally the only cool character. He has a damn axe, and some super huge muscles, and he’s like, genuinely the only one strong enough to stand on the frontlines.”

“To be fair, Robbie plays as a wizard who can shoot magic from his palms, and that’s like, subjectively cooler than a dude swinging around a hunk of sharpened metal,” Micky interjected, a single eyebrow cocked. 

“Objectively,” Robbie muttered.

Micky snorted. “And anyway, I know my bow might not be anything special, but at least I can move at a normal speed. The warrior goes at a slug’s pace.”

Robbie dropped his head in feigned exasperation, chocolate curls swaying and extending towards his tattered Reeboks. He figured he could afford a new pair since he’d been saving so much money on records lately. His jobs had their perks. As long as his bosses never caught him. “I could almost swear we have this conversation at least once every fortnight. I think we’ve established that my wizard is top tier, and that the rest of you are all an equal second.”

“Agreed, but there’s no arguing that my girl is the easiest on the eyes,” a voice chimed in.

Smirking, his high cheekbones carrying a gorgeously rosy tint, Al drifted over with slow, purposeful steps. He was unreasonably tall, a skyscraper growing human appendages, and his wispy black curls impeccably accentuated the emeralds atop which his pupils sat. With the exception of the bridge of his nose, which had been knocked slightly askew as a result of a childhood scuffle, his facial features were the epitome of perfection, the reflection of every front-page male model and every pretty lead vocalist. The other three were undeniably jealous of Al’s natural beauty, but found it within themselves to forgive him since he was humble about it. 

Robbie’s face widened as a grin so grand it bordered on blinding settled into place. He broke into a clumsy jog and threw his arms around Al’s shoulders, squeezing tight, wishing he could hold him there forever. Al was like a younger brother to him. He had an actual blood-related brother, but since he was a bit of an asshole, he deemed that Al counted more. “I can’t believe the big man has finally graced us with his presence! We are not worthy!”

Al laughed so hard that his whole body trembled, bones rattling under the weight of sincere happiness rather than the heavy responsibilities of the corporate world. He hugged Robbie back even tighter, nestling his nose into a nape that smelled peculiarly like home. “I couldn’t leave the team hanging. Not again. I know you’ll never admit it, but you guys need me.”

“If we do admit it, will you promise never to ditch us again?” Micky asked, squeezing himself into the embrace. Kurt hastily followed, completing the huddle.

“You guys know I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do my best to stick to the schedule from now on.”

Kurt, always uncomfortable with physical contact should it not be for the sake of his sport, was the first to disentangle his limbs. Clearing his throat, he reached up to shove his permed fringe away from his eyes. “We know you’re busy, man. We just appreciate any effort you make to be here. More than your contribution to the game, we just miss seeing you.”

“Speak for yourself, I just like seeing the way he makes the valkyrie move,” Robbie joked, finally pulling away. He sidled over to a great blue arcade machine and tenderly rubbed its sides like it was an old lover. “Speaking of which - you ready to dive straight in?”

Al rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie. A cocky grin pulled at his lips, and a wave of intense darkness washed over his eyes. “Let’s throw down the gauntlet.”