The date arrived the way most things in Malia's life did lately—quietly, without fanfare, but heavy with expectation.

Six p.m. blinked on the arcade's digital clock as she stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind her. The place was already alive: neon lights buzzing, machines chiming over one another, laughter echoing in sharp bursts. It smelled like soda, fries, and something vaguely electric.

She spotted Mike almost immediately.

He was standing near the token machine, hands shoved into his pockets, shifting his weight like he wasn't sure where to put himself. When he saw her, his face lit up so fast it made her smile before she even reached him.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," she answered. "You look like you rehearsed this."

He laughed, a little embarrassed. "I might've."

She gestured around them. "Relax. We're in an arcade. This is the least intimidating date setting possible."

"That's debatable," he said, glancing at a game that was aggressively flashing GAME OVER.

They fed bills into the token machine, the coins spilling out between them in a metallic clatter. They split them without talking about it and drifted toward the games, bumping shoulders as they walked.

They tried racing games first. Malia crashed almost immediately.

"I swear, the steering is rigged," she said, gripping the wheel like it had personally wronged her.

Mike won by a humiliating margin and tried not to look smug about it. He failed.

Next was the claw machine. Malia leaned in, tongue caught between her teeth, carefully lining up the grab.

The claw dropped. Missed completely.

Mike snorted. "You hesitated."

"I was being strategic."

"You reached for it like it was gonna betray you."

She glanced at him. "Because it always does."

That one actually made him laugh—full, unguarded, head-tilted-back laughter—and she decided the claw machine could keep the stupid stuffed bear.

Somewhere between shared fries and a failed attempt at a shooter game, the conversation shifted. The noise around them faded into background hum as Mike leaned back against a machine, rubbing his palms on his jeans.

"Tina probably told you stuff," he said. "About Glee."

Malia nodded. "She tells me everything."

He exhaled slowly. "I really like dancing. I always have. And sometimes it just feels like..." He shrugged. "Like no one really notices. Or cares."

She didn't rush him. She never did.

"It's not even about solos," he went on. "I just want to be part of it. Like—actually part of it."

"Yeah, I get it."

Malia's eyes drifted past him.

"Oh," she said, sudden and decisive. "I have an idea."

"What?"

She grabbed his wrist and tugged him across the arcade before he could react, stopping in front of a glowing Dance Dance Revolution machine. The screen pulsed with arrows and overconfident music.

Mike stared. "You're serious."

"No judges," she said, already dropping in a token. "No audience. No Mr. Schue. Just you and the floor."

He hesitated. "I don't usually—"

"Mike," she cut in gently. "You don't have to be good for anyone here."

That did it.

He stepped onto the platform, picked a song, and when the music started, something clicked. His movements weren't polished, but they were natural—confident in a way that didn't need permission.

Malia watched, leaning against the machine, chest warm with something that looked a lot like pride.

When the song ended, the machine blared approval. Mike jumped down, flushed and breathless.

"That," he said, grinning, "was actually amazing."

She crossed her arms. "Told you."

He turned back to the machine, then to her. "Dance with me."

"Absolutely not."

Too late. He was already pulling her onto the platform.

They danced together—off-beat, laughing, colliding, missing steps and not caring. At one point, he reached for her hand to steady her, and she let him.

When the music ended, they stood there for a second longer than necessary.

"That felt..." Mike searched for the word.

"Easy," Malia supplied.

He smiled. "Yeah."

As they stepped off, she realized something quietly, without drama or fear.

For the first time in a while, Malia didn't feel like she was watching life from the sidelines.

★。、:*:。.:*:・'゜☆。.:*:★。、:*:。.:*:・'゜☆。.:*

Malia found Tina and Mercedes near the lockers after glee rehearsal, both of them leaning against the metal like they'd just survived something intense.

Mercedes spoke first. "So. Update."

Tina nodded quickly. "We're... um... Sue kids now."

Malia blinked. "I miss one rehearsal and Sue Sylvester adopts you?"

Mercedes snorted. "Adopts is a strong word. More like claims ownership."

"At f-first it was t-terrifying," Tina admitted. "She c-called us into the choir room like she was about to yell at us for b-breathing wrong."

Mercedes crossed her arms. "But then she told us what song we're doing."

Malia tilted her head. "Which is?"

"Hate on Me," Mercedes said, a little proud. "Jill Scott."

That made Malia pause. "Wait. That's actually—"

"Yeah," Mercedes said. "It's the exact vibe we wanted when Schue asked what we wanted to do and then immediately ignored us."

"Don't get it twisted," Mercedes added quickly. "She's still terrifying. I'm ninety percent sure she enjoys fear. But... she gets us, for now I guess."

Malia smiled, small but genuine. "Okay. That's kind of huge."

They sat with that for a second before Mercedes' eyes flicked up, sharp and curious.
"So. Your turn."

Malia sighed. "Here we go."

"The date," Mercedes said.

Tina smiled softly. "H-how was it?"

Malia shrugged, but it was lighter this time. "It was... easy. We went to an arcade. We talked. Played games. No pressure. No expectations."

Mercedes grinned. "So not a dramatic teen romance spiral."

"Not yet," Malia said dryly. "I think it was just... nice to hang out with someone new."

Tina nodded, understanding. "That's g-good too."

Malia looked between them. "I'm not trying to make it into something serious. I'm just... figuring things out."

"And that's cool too," Mercedes bumped her knee gently. "Just don't disappear on us."

"I'm not disappearing," Malia said, smiling. "You're stuck with me."

Tina smiled at that—small, certain.

And for the first time in a while, Malia didn't feel like she was standing on the edge of something.

She felt included.