Page 3 of Playing with Fire

And some fires just needed the right monster to set them free.

IwasbusykeepingXavier alive the night my life went up in smoke.

"Behind you," I called, positioning my shield to block the incoming damage. The victory screen flashed, adding another win to our stats. On my second screen, the Discord call showed Xavier’s icon as a stylized flame. Something tightened low in my belly at the sight of it, knowing Xavier was on the other side.

“That’s what you get when you let me keep you alive instead of running off to solo squads,” I pointed out.

“Dude, your build is broken. There’s no way that build is vanilla.” Xavier’s voice held that special mix of accusation and admiration that made my chest feel warm. Even through Discord, his voice had a texture to it, like whiskey poured over gravel.

Two years of friendship, and I still hadn’t built an immunity to it. Two years of virginal fantasies hidden behind casual banter.

“Says the guy who literally wrote an aimbot last month because he was too lazy to learn the new recoil patterns.” I adjusted my thick-framed glasses, trying to hide my smile even though he couldn’t see it. “I didn’t mod shit. I just understand the current meta.”

“Bold words from someone who still uses Python for everything.”

“Python is elegant and practical, you elitist code snob.”

The familiar rhythm of our banter settled something restless inside of me. The way Xavier could construct a perfect exploit in seconds made my brain light up in ways that felt dangerously close to arousal. I’d never admitted to anyone how watching someone craft beautiful code turned me on more than any of the porn my army buddies had passed around in secret.

This was our nightly ritual, gaming and coding debates that stretched until dawn. Me, in my bedroom fortress of screens and half-finished miniature models, him in whatever dark corner he was haunting that night. Our friendship had been built on a foundation of competitive gaming, mutual respect, and exactly that kind of comfortable banter. But somewhere along the way, it had developed into something more for me. I had to pretend I didn’t count the minutes between our calls, didn’t replay his laugh in my head like hymns, didn’t dream of doing things with Xavier that my priest would call abominación.

A crash from the kitchen made me jump. My heart stuttered against my ribs, and somewhere deep in my psyche, I remembered how dangerous my father’s unpredictable temper could be. “Dammit, not again.”

“Wattson’s stress baking again?” Xavier asked.

“Yeah. He lost someone today at the clinic. Car accident. He always bakes after. Makes him feel better, I guess.” I glanced at my clock. The green neon numbers shouted it was after two in the morning.

Doc had been off kilter since he got back from his thirty-six-hour shift at the clinic in town. I’d heard him pacing earlier, muttering about response times and rural infrastructure. Now, the familiar scent of his emergency chocolate chip cookies wafted under my door, along with the sound of him apparently rearranging every pan we owned.

“You know, you and Wattson sound like a sitcom waiting to happen,” Xavier said. “The combat medic and the hacker, sharing a double-wide in the middle of a junkyard. Cue the sappy jazz intro.”

“Better than living next to a funeral home,” I shot back.

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. They’re quiet neighbors.” There was a brief pause before Xavier added. “You’re okay though, right? With Doc and his…thing?”

The question caught me off guard. Xavier didn’t do gentle with many people, but he’d always been different with me. Something warm unfurled in my chest at the concern in his voice. This was the Xavier only I got to see, the one who remembered who my favorite Sailor Scout was and never once mocked me for it.

Sometimes, it felt like he knew me better than I knew myself. My therapist would call our relationship unhealthy, and it probably was. It couldn’t be healthy the way I measured my worth by his attention, or the way I structured my entire week around his schedule, or how I felt physically ill if we didn’t talk for a day. But my therapist didn’t understand. Nobody did. Xavier was essential to my life. I literally couldn’t function without him.

"Yeah, I'm good. It's actually kind of nice, you know? Knowing someone cares that much about saving people. Even if it means finding flour in weird places for the next week."

More crashing from the kitchen. I really hoped he wasn't trying to reorganize the cabinets again. Last time he'd done that, I couldn't find the coffee for three days, and the withdrawal headache had been biblical. My abuela would have said it was divine punishment for my impatience.

“Speaking of saving people, I need to handle something.” Xavier's voice took on that particular edge that meant he was about to log off to do something probably illegal and definitely dangerous. My stomach clenched, a Pavlovian response to the danger his tone promised. That tone did things to me, terrible, wonderful things that had me shifting in my chair and crossing my legs against the sudden tightness in my jeans.

"Anything I should know about?" I tried to keep my voice casual, but the hollow feeling expanding in my chest betrayed me. Every time he went hunting, I spent hours calculating odds and probabilities, imagining all the ways a vigilante mission could go wrong. The eight hours after he went dark were always the worst. My brain went on a constant loop of worst-case scenarios. I wouldn’t be able to sleep or eat until I knew he was safe.

All I’d be able to think about were all the ways I might lose him before I ever really had him. Before I ever worked up the courage to tell him that I'd never been kissed, never been touched, never been anything but the good Catholic boy who'd disappointed his family anyway.

The cruelest irony of all? Even if I found the courage to tell him how I felt, it wouldn’t matter. Xavier had told me six months ago, during one of our late-night coding sessions, that he was asexual.

"Sex just isn't my thing,"he'd said so casually, like he was discussing a preference for coffee over tea."Bodies and fluids... not interested."I'd nodded and kept typing, pretending my entire world hadn't just collapsed around me. Pretending I hadn't been nurturing impossible fantasies for over a year by then.

I still wanted him with an intensity that frightened me. I kept telling myself that maybe it didn’t have to be sexual. Maybe we could just be best friends. Maybe this could be enough. But as more time went by, I was less sure of that.

Either way, I wasn’t willing to give him up. I wanted him in whatever way I could have him. He was like a drug, and I was addicted enough that even getting scraps of him was better than nothing at all.

Xavier’s voice pulled me back into the moment. “…cleanup job. I guess it’s my turn on the roster today. You know how it goes.”

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