Page 5 of Play Hard

With a suspicious glare, Liam handed over the computer.

Robert turned away to connect the adapter. “Also, I need to write down—”

“Och, I knew it!” Liam slapped him with a pillow.

“—one more thing.” Robert added two short lines of code, plus a quick comment so he’d remember his place in the morning. Nearly every word was misspelled, due to the pillow pummeling his back. “Okay, okay.” He set the laptop in his computer bag, which he zipped shut to keep out drafts.

Finally he switched off the lamp, then scooted under the covers. “Sorry about all that.” He found Liam’s face in the dark and kissed his nose. “I got horribly behind schedule during the holidays and now I’m trying to catch up.”

“But you were like this before the holidays.”

“Like what?”

“Like…off kilter. You’ve always been a hard worker, but back at university you had this amazing ability to balance your courses and football and me.” Liam ran his finger over the zip on Robert’s hoodie, sending a soothing warmth over his breastbone. “But now, there’s nae ceiling to how much you work. If it wasn’t for me, I don’t think you’d sleep or eat. When was the last time—apart from Christmas—you had a whole day off?”

“Dunno.” The mere thought of such a long break gave Robert’s stomach an anxious twinge. He actually had worked a wee bit on Christmas, pretending to relax with a football magazine, which had secretly hidden a recent research paper on rewards and motivation in video gaming. “It’s only because we’ve just launched the app’s alpha version and there’s a million improvements to get it ready for beta testing. Things’ll be better after this deadline.”

“Aye, and unless your funding evaporates, there’ll be another deadline after that, and another after that. You cannae live your whole life this way.” Liam tapped a fingertip against Robert’s chin. “You’ve got to pace yourself, mate, or you’ll burn out.“

“But my work—”

“Is important. I know. That’s why I’ve not said anything till now. I totally support your crusade to make Glasgow be less shite.”

“Thanks.” Be Less Shite was Liam’s nickname for Robert’s current project, a life-simulation mobile game where players could create and control their very own Glaswegians, leading them through life in this challenging city. He’d built it with input from university researchers and money he’d obtained through crowdfunding and a grant from the city itself, but the labor so far was largely his own.

Robert and his colleagues hoped this game would help diagnose and maybe even solve the “Glasgow Effect,” a mysterious phenomenon in which people of this city tended to die twenty years younger than their counterparts in the rest of the UK—including areas with more severe poverty and higher rates of heart disease. Something about Glasgow was sending its citizens to an early grave.

It was especially bad in his and Liam’s home district of Shettleston. Here in this section of the East End, men died on average at age fifty-five. Since graduating from uni last summer, Robert had made it his life’s work to reverse that trend—and hopefully show people a good time while he was at it.

“In five years we’ll be twenty-seven,” Robert said. “I don’t want that to be middle age.”

“Naw, we’re all right. We’re pure healthy footballers.”

“My dad was a footballer at my age. My mum ran marathons.” His chest tightened like someone had turned a bolt in its center. “Sport didn’t stop them drinking and smoking themselves to death once their youth was over.”

“I know.” Liam brushed his toes over Robert’s foot in a comforting caress. “Like I said, your work’s important, but…” He tensed as his voice trailed off.

“But what?” Robert felt a rising unease. It wasn’t like Liam to hold back. Usually he uttered every thought that came into his head, as well as thoughts that seemed to have skipped his head entirely.

“Well…work can kill people too, right? I mean, what was the point of us quitting smoking if you end up dying of a heart attack from something way less fun?”

Dying?“You think I’m that bad?”

“I think you’ve got a serious case of the Protestant work ethic—which makes you a crap Catholic.”

“We’re already crap Catholics.” Robert slid a hand up under Liam’s shirt. “Proved that a few minutes ago.”

“If you think changing the subject back to sex will stop me telling you off, you’re absolutely right. But you need telling. Not just for your sake and mine, but for the team’s. It’s only a matter of time before you let football slide too.”

Robert felt a knot form in his stomach. The last thing he wanted was to let down Liam—not to mention the Warriors, their all-LGBTQ amateur football club. “What do you suggest?”

“Hmm…” Liam turned onto his back, and in the dim light leaking through the blinds, Robert could see his eyes scan the ceiling as he thought. “There’s nae point telling you to simply work fewer hours. You’ll be bored ball-less unless you replace a bit of work with something else challenging and important. Something new.”

“Like what?”

“That’s for you to figure out, mate.” He stretched to kiss Robert’s cheek. “But not in the middle of the night. Sleep now, aye?”

“Aye.” They rolled over onto their right sides (as always) in perfect sync (as always). Robert slid his arm round his partner’s waist and held him tight, burying his nose in the back of his neck and inhaling the deliciously familiar combination of ale and sweat and ineffable Liam-ness.

---