Arlo sighed and shoved his phone into his pocket.
Tonight wasn't the night for inheritance drama.
He had just graduated. He was surrounded by friends, alcohol, and a girl who made his heart play hopscotch every time she smiled.
He looked up.
The sky was starless — just a gray sheet stretched across the heavens like the universe couldn't be bothered to show up to his celebration.
A cold breeze blew through the street and made him shiver in his clothes.
"…Screw it," he muttered and stepped back inside the bar.
The atmosphere hadn't changed much. Still loud. Still chaotic. Still smelled like sweat, beer, and bad decisions marinating together.
James spotted him immediately and raised a brow. "Let me guess. Your side chick's mad you didn't answer."
Arlo rolled his eyes and sat down. "Professor wants to see me tomorrow. Probably forgot to fail me."
"Lame," James said. "You know what you need?"
"No."
"Drinking games."
The group collectively cheered like James had just invented fun.
A girl produced a bottle from thin air like some sort of alcoholic magician and placed it in the center of the table.
"Alright," she said, spinning it. "Truth or dare. Refuse the challenge, and you drink an entire bottle."
"Sounds illegal," Arlo muttered.
"Sounds fun," James corrected, grinning.
The bottle spun wildly, rattling on the wooden surface.
Round after round passed with laughter, squeals, and escalating chaos — everything from awkward truths to one guy doing push-ups with a girl sitting on his back.
And then… it happened.
The bottle spun again.
The top pointed at Arlo. The bottom at Gwen.
The entire table went "Oooooooooh."
Arlo's heart skipped. His stomach did a somersault.
James grinned like he'd just pulled off the heist of the century.
"Dare," James said. "You two. Kiss."
'W wingman.' Arlo thought, eyes darting toward Gwen.
She blinked at him.
Her expression was unreadable for a moment — flustered? Confused? Was that a blush?
There was a beat of silence.
And then Gwen reached behind her.
"Hand me a bottle," she said to one of her friends.
They obeyed without question, and Gwen tipped it back and chugged the entire thing in two gulps.
Arlo's jaw dropped. James audibly gasped like someone had been shot.
She chose alcohol over kissing him?
Arlo blinked and touched his jaw as if expecting it to have melted. It still had shape — but it certainly didn't feel sharp.
Had he lost his edge?
"Damn," James muttered. "She really drank a whole bottle just to avoid kissing you. That's… that's impressive, bro."
"I think my soul just got mugged," Arlo muttered.
"Yeah. But at least now you can drink too. Y'know. To drown the sting."
The night went on. They laughed.
They drank. Someone tried to climb a table and fell. Gwen remained friendly but distant from Arlo, no matter how many times James tried to orchestrate accidental closeness.
When Arlo tripped over a chair and landed near her, she helped him up — then promptly joined another conversation.
And eventually, the night fizzled out.
People slumped in booths or left in rideshares. James vanished with one of Gwen's friends. Some guy in a tie was having a heated debate with the bartender about nachos.
Arlo sat at the booth, asleep. Across from him, Gwen had passed out, cheek pressed to the sticky wooden table.
When Arlo woke up — who knows how much later — his head was throbbing like a tiny marching band was parading behind his eyes.
He blinked the world into focus.
Everyone was gone.
Except Gwen.
Still asleep, her hair spilled across the table like a scene from a drama titled "I Should've Gone Home Earlier."
Arlo reached for his phone.
One message.
[James: Plan B. You're welcome. Carry her home and say you paid the bill. Maybe you'll get some head lol.]
Arlo blinked.
"W… wingman," he said, too hungover to be offended.
He leaned over and gently tapped Gwen's shoulder.
She stirred slowly, eyes squinting against the light. "Mmm… huh?"
"Hey," he said. "Everyone left. You fell asleep."
She rubbed her eyes and looked around. "What time is it?"
"No clue. I think we're technically squatting now."
She gave a tired stretch, lips pursed. "Ugh. I feel like a half-eaten croissant."
Arlo chuckled.
"I paid the bill, by the way," he added, trying to sound casual.
Her eyes softened. "Oh. Thanks, Arlo. That's sweet of you."
"No problem."
They left the bar together, stepping into the early morning mist.
The streets were quiet, bathed in the faint glow of streetlights.
Gwen leaned slightly against him as they walked.
She smelled of alcohol, yes — but also a faint trace of flowers. Lavender? Jasmine?
Arlo's heart pounded with every step.
He could feel her warmth against his side. Her head swayed slightly. She mumbled something about how cold it was and he took off his jacket, wrapping it around her.
She thanked him for it.
This… this felt like a moment.
When they finally reached the front of her apartment building, she stepped toward her door and paused, fumbling for keys.
Arlo swallowed.
Now or never.
"Gwen?" he said.
She turned her head slowly while giving him back his jacket.
"Would you… go out with me?" he asked. "Be my girlfriend?"
For a moment, she didn't say anything.
Then she sighed — like he'd just asked her to carry a fridge up three flights of stairs.
She looked at him with a half-smile, half-frown.
"Arlo… you're a nice dude. You really are."
That was how it started… a prelude to a nuclear strike.
"But you're not my type."
Boom.
"Nothing can ever happen between us."
Boom. Boom.
"You don't even have respectable job applications. You don't have a future."
BOOM.
And just like that, she opened her door, gave him a polite smile, and shut it right in his face.
Arlo blinked.
The sound of the door echoed in his ears.
He took a step back.
He felt like he'd just gotten fired from a job he didn't even apply for.
He stared at the door, stunned.
The early morning silence mocked him. Somewhere in the distance, a cat knocked over a trash can with perfect comedic timing.
"…Damn," Arlo muttered. "At least be kind about it."
He turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, head hanging low.