Page 115 of Looking for Group
***
“No elf?” was the first inevitable question when Drew arrived at Sanee and Steff’s.
Drew thought about telling them the whole story, but he didn’t want another lecture about game addiction and the evils of leaving parties. “Not tonight.”
Sanee scowled. “You realise this means I’m going to have to redo the roster.”
“What roster? I thought we were just playingMortal Kombat.”
“You think,” demanded Sanee, with an outrage that bordered on the genuine, “that I’d invite you to a tournament and not provide a tournament?”
Steff staggered in with a pinboard. It was covered in index cards, sorted into tiered match-ups. “It’ll be fine, Squidge. We can remove Kit’s name.”
Sanee did not look entirely mollified. “It’s the principle, and besides, it throws off the whole structure.”
“No,” said Drew, “what’ll throw off the whole structure is me pwning all of your asses.”
And, thankfully, that distracted Sanee long enough for them to actually start playing the game.
Drew had spent quite a large part of the morning rote-memorising combos, special moves, and fatalities, which meant he put in a creditable performance. He came out third in the rankings, having bested both Sanee and Steff, narrowly losing to Andy, and having his arse comprehensively handed to him by Tinuviel. Who turned out to be far, far too good at fighting games.
After her first couple of matches, they realised that the only way anyone else would stand a chance would be if they gave her some kind of penalty, which started out as banning her from playing Mileena, escalated quickly to requiring her to play arandomly selected character, and culminated in her having to play a character of her opponent’s choice. Tinuviel accepted all of this with good grace, and still won virtually all of her games.
“I don’t admit this often,” said Sanee, awarding Tinuviel the grand prize of red-iced and thus ostensibly blood-themed cupcake that Steff had apparently made specially, “but I am genuinely impressed and slightly afraid.”
Tinuviel accepted her award gravely, peeled off the paper, and devoured it in two large bites. “Thank you, Sanee. I attribute my success to my supportive family, the voice talents of Karen Strassman, my repressed violent urges, and the fact that none of you would recognise a cancel or a breaker if you fell over it.”1
Everyone applauded.
Drew still missed Kit, but the evening had turned out to be exactly what he needed. On the way back to his room, he estimated that “a couple of days” could, if you squinted and tilted your head right, just about be said to have passed. So he took a deep breath and started composing a text. It took way longer than the word count really justified.
In the end, he had:Sorry if I was a dick. I miss you. Can we talk?
***
Kit got back to him the next morning, and they agreed to meet in Kit’s favourite tearoom before the raid.
So there they were, in the very frilly tearoom, half-lost behind overloaded cake stands. In his anxiety, Drew had already eaten three triangular cucumber sandwiches and a macaron, and was now feeling awkward and clumsy on top of nervous. Kit, of course, looked like just the sort of boy you’d take to a tea shop—except, to Drew, he seemed a little washed out. Not quite his usual self.
“Um.” Drew picked up a piece of Victoria sponge and hastily put it down again. “I am really sorry. I was worried and confused and overreacted.”
Kit was silent for a while. Finally, he folded his hands on the tabletop and said, “I think it’s the worried that upsets me most.”
Drew had always been under the impression that worrying about someone showed you cared. “What? Why?”
“Well, I guess I’ve got used to people making me feel there’s something wrong with how I live my life. But I wasn’t expecting it from you. I thought you got me.”
“Oh my God, I do get you. We have a thing…like, a real proper thing.” Drew was starting to realise this was way more serious than he’d thought—and he still didn’t entirely know why. “I just want you to spend more time with me than you do hanging out in a video game.”
Kit blinked. His eyelashes looked a little damp. “But, Drew, wemetin that video game.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to spend all our time in it.”
“I don’t understand where this is coming from. Why are you so obsessed with how much I playHoL? You’ve played it as much as I have.”
Drew was trying to be calm and apologetic like Morag had said, but he was really struggling with the way Kit seemed to see him. He wasn’t that sort of player and never had been. Yes, he’d taken the game seriously, but it had never been his default activity. He had lots of other stuff going on in his life, and he was a bit narked Kit couldn’t recognise that.
“I really haven’t, mate. I’ve got three alts, plus the one I rolled with you. Even when I was raiding hardcore with Anni, I was there to do the content. I’ve actually spent more time inHoLsince I met you than I did when I was the MT for the number one raiding guild on the server.”
