It came out as a groan, with palms digging into his cheeks, cheese puff powder lining the corner of his mouth.

“Ugh, I surrender.”

“Dude, this is like the third time you’ve forfeited your land.” Derek, who had been keeping track on a notepad from his bean bag chair, counted off tally marks. His calculations were accurate. Josiah had lost every single round since they started playing two months ago.

“This isn’t fair,” he said. He slumped against the couch, his mullet dangerously close to a greasy box of pizza. “Meg’s always ready to decimate me before I even have a chance to build up my military.”

They had been sitting around Derek’s coffee table, Medieval Storm arranged before them, the television in the corner playing reruns of Merlin. It was the four of them--Josiah, Derek, Meg, and Rosa. All of them coworkers at Randy’s Diner and three of them classmates at the community college of Westville. Medieval Storm was recently introduced into their Friday night game nights that began three years ago. Despite work and academic obligations, it has since remained a successful tradition.

“That’s because you spend too much time on your Village,” Rosa said. “You prioritize the wrong things, Josy.” She unfolded her legs and pointed to his land. “You made a good Village and everything, but what’s so good about a town if it can’t even defend itself?”

“She’s got a point,” Derek said, shoveling his fingers into another bag of Doritos, his shirt peppered with crumbs. Meg, sitting across the table, hesitated when he offered her a chip, but eventually agreed. It was cool-ranch flavored after all, her favorite.

Rosa continued, “All great empires are great because of their militaries. Duh!” She popped a pretzel between her plush pink lips. “You gotta have a defense system, Josy,” she said, chewing around the salty snack, “otherwise you'll be obliterated in the next round. Again.”

Josiah sighed. It was true. He’d spent far too much attention on his Village, buying farm land and livestock, that he completely neglected to buy soldiers to build his medieval military. So when Meg reached Level Four, she gained the opportunity to extend her Army north to where Josiah’s Village rested. In the previous rounds, Derek and Rosa seized that chance just as well.

Josiah was left with two options: surrender or perish. Forfeiting would allow him to keep playing, under certain restrictions, while death would immediately terminate his role in Medieval Storm.

“Maybe we should try playing Scrabble,” Meg said. She suggested this because it was his favorite board game. She’d seen him in the break room at work inhaling word puzzles from Randy’s decade old Westville newspapers. His mullet would be tied low at the nape of his neck, sweat lining the skin above his eyebrows. And he’d always fold his lips whenever he was stuck on a word or pondering a phrase.

“God, please no.” Rosa shook her head vehemently. “It’s game night not word night. We’ll save the word searches for when we feel like dying of boredom.”

Derek offered a smile, which was really more of a grimace, and said, “I’d prefer to get to Level Five and build a Medieval Zombie Army.”

“Hey, come on, Scrabble isn't that bad,” Meg said. She tried to smile at Josiah, who unfortunately had pulled up his phone to Google “Medieval storm military” and failed to recognize the gesture.

Rosa called for a break, sprinting to the upstairs bathroom, while Derek turned the volume up on the television. Prince Arthur and Merlin were bickering about something as usual. And Josiah sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck, before transferring what little Money and Magic cards he had salvaged to place them in front of Meg. She’d have full control of his land now, owning his livestock, his farmers, his people. He, too, would be under her jurisdiction.

He looked up and Meg offered another smile, a softer one. But Josiah simply adjusted his glasses and returned to his phone.

“Don’t feel bad, dude,” Derek said from the bean bag chair. As Prince Arthur's life force slowly drained from him, Merlin found Gwaine in a village pub. “I suck at Scrabble if that makes you feel better.” He ripped open a new bag of cheese puffs as Rosa descended from the staircase. Her hands working to secure her hair into a bun, humming to something from The Killers. “Come on, you haven't seen season three yet. And I have more cheese puffs in the cupboard over there.”

Josiah sighed, removed himself from the coffee table, and sat next to Derek. He dipped his fingers into the orange plastic bag Derek offered, crunching away, and Meg shrugged to Rosa.

“I feel bad now.”

“For what?” Rosa said. The volume increased so she spoke louder than usual. “For winning? No, dude.” She gestured to Josiah. “He’s our best friend and he’s also the biggest sore loser ever.” She shrugged. “And that’s alright.”

Meg nodded. But she still felt an inclining of guilt. After all, she’d been annihilating him at Medieval Storm for the past two months now. And if she was being honest, she was worried he’d never speak to her again.

“If he can’t handle losing a game, then he needs to grow up,” Rosa said. She stuffed another pretzel into her mouth, glancing to the screen as Prince Arthur unsheathed his sword, preparing to enter the Fisher King’s Realm. “Oh, my God, this is one of the best episodes!”

Meg smiled. She and Rosa moved to the carpet, settling in between the floor pillows as Merlin devised a plan to aid Arthur.

The night stretched on, and when it came to head home, Rosa threw an arm around Josiah’s neck, whispering into his ear Medieval Storm hacks she’d never shared before. He nodded as they walked to their dorms, glanced back at Meg, and finally returned the smile she had shared with him earlier in the evening.