Page 38 of Level Up
The apartment opens right into the main living area: my two-and-a-half-seater couch, a ten-year-old TV, and my computer desk in one half of the space, and a small kitchen with a drop-leaf dining table covered in books in the other half. I should probably get a bookshelf too.
Damien stands in the middle of the room, looking around awkwardly, like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to sit somewhere. To be fair, the couch is currently taken up by my crochet work-in-progress and my laptop.
“Sorry!” I swoop in to clear space for him to sit, tucking my laptop under the shelf on my desk where my monitors sitand stuffing the bag full of yarn into the space between the couch and my desk’s legs.
He sits in the spot that I’ve cleared, though he’s checking out all the crap on my desk as he does. At first, I worry that he might be judging me for having so much stuff, but he’s smiling. Hopefully that’s a good thing.
“Tea!” I exclaim suddenly, and he looks up at me, perplexed by my non-sequitur. “Do you drink tea? You need tea to watchFrozen. It’s, like, the rule. Maybe hot chocolate if you are really opposed to tea, but?—”
“Tea’s fine,” he says with a laugh.
“What kind?” I’m prepared to start listing off the variety of teas in my cupboard, but he answers right away.
“Regular?” he says, and I give him a nod.Regularis my favourite too.
I feel a bit like a tornado, rushing back and forth to set up the movie, and make our tea, and get everything justso. Because a movie like this deservesso.
Once our steaming mugs of tea are on the coffee table, I go to my desk to start the movie—which has been duplicated onto my TV screen—and nearly trip over his legs on my way to the other side of the couch to take a seat. I tuck my legs up next to me without even thinking and my foot bumps the side of his thigh.
“Sorry—” I start to move my legs out of the way, but he puts a hand on my calf to stop me. Just for a second, but the contact burns through me. And not in a terrible way.
“It’s fine,” he says, bringing one foot up onto the couch and hugging his arms around his knee.
Damien smiles at me as he settles into place and then turns his attention to the TV again as the characters on-screen start singing about chopping ice. My foot accidentally bumps him again when I shift a bit, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
He’s quiet for about five minutes, but I quicklylearn that he likes to talk through movies. Just like games, I suppose—I can see why he got into streaming. But it’s not unpleasant. His commentary and insights andhot takesmake it feel like I’m watching the movie for the first time, through fresh eyes.
He rags the characters a bit—“What exactly is this guy’s relationship with that reindeer?”—but by the end, he almost seems impressed. I try not to evil-laugh at creating a new convert.
He lifts his knee again and drapes his arms over it, angling to face me a little more. “You mentioned that you have a sister. Is that why you like this movie?”
I forgot that I’d mentioned that during one of our chats. I certainly didn’t expect him to remember everything I’ve told him.
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug, hugging my knees to my chest. “We were never really that close, but… I guess in that way I did kind of relate to Anna wanting Elsa to spend more time with her. Marie—my sister—never really had time for me. She’s six years older, so I was just a baby to her.”
“Do you see her much now?” he asks, and I shrug again.
“Not much. She moved to Montreal to live with her boyfriend almost a decade ago, and they visit for holidays sometimes. But she’s never invited me to go out and visit or anything.”
“You know you cantellher you want to see her, right?” There’s a teasing smile on his face. “You don’t have to wait for her to say something.”
“I guess…” I stare down at my knees for a moment before turning and lowering my feet to the floor, stretching my legs. “I don’t think she likes me very much.” I’d never told anyone that I think that, but it’s an undercurrent of anxiety constantly thrumming through me. “I don’t think very many people like me at all.”
I expect him to argue with me, to say that I’m great andlots of people like me, like Victory would, but he doesn’t. He just nods. And there’s something oddly comforting about it. “I think that means you’re probably doing something right,” he says.
I blink at him incredulously. “What?”
“Think about it,” he adds, leaning back in his seat. “If you’re out there just doing your own thing, not giving a shit what other people expect from you, then yeah, some of them might not like that. But they’re dicks, so it doesn’t matter.”
“You’re saying my sister is a dick?”
“Well, I don’t know your sister, but she could be.” He shrugs. “My older brother is a dick, so I don’t talk to him much. And if that means he’s just being himself, then fine. I don’t have to like it, and he doesn’t have to like me.”
I slump back in my seat and accidentally bump his shoulder, but he doesn’t say anything, so I don’t apologize. “You just have it all figured out, I guess,” I say, nudging him with my elbow, and he exhales a sarcastic laugh.
“Yeah, absolutely,” he says jokingly. “I can even tell you tomorrow’s winning lottery numbers.”
“Spoilers,” I say, and he laughs for real.
