by Jerry Cole
As Bjorn stood by the wall and nursed his second drink, he wondered why he hadn’t just stayed upstairs. This really wasn’t his scene. Everyone seemed to be trying way too hard, at least as far as he was concerned. He looked around, wondering if they didn’t know that they had to be up and about early in the morning. He had lost Carl and Carpenter in the crowd the moment he had arrived downstairs, and he didn’t understand why they had dragged him there in the first place. He was considering what the fallout would be if he went back to his room when someone leaned on the wall next to him.
“Hey,” he said into Bjorn’s ear. “You’re Allegiance, right?”
“Yeah,” Bjorn replied, not looking at the guy who was addressing him. “And you’re—”
The guy laughed. “Well, my username is Atlanta.”
Bjorn snapped his head to the side so fast that it caught some people’s attention. But he wasn’t worried about them. He was more concerned with the fact that Atlanta, the legend himself, was talking to him. He swallowed a little of his drink, trying to buy himself a little time while he told himself how stupid he had been. How was it possible that he hadn’t even noticed Atlanta in the room? He was too busy sulking to realize that someone he had idolized for years was right there, standing right next to him. He didn’t want to seem too star-struck when he spoke, even though he felt breathless and dizzy just standing there next to him. Bjorn finally looked at Atlanta, letting his gaze linger on him. The first time that Bjorn had seen him, on a website somewhere, he had assumed that he was some sort of stock model, put there to make e-gaming seem a little bit more accessible and mainstream. In fact, Bjorn remembered thinking that they had picked a model that had little to do with the brand, that he was too upscale, that he made no sense. Then he had found a video of Atlanta talking into the camera about an upcoming competition. He had sent it to his friends and the guys on the team, asking if it was some sort of joke. Nerds weren’t supposed to look like that, at least not as far as Bjorn was concerned.
After they were done calling him gay, they had spent the next few months making fun of him mercilessly and setting him straight for not knowing enough about what he wanted to make his profession. Yes, that was Atlanta. Yes, he looked like a Gucci model. Yes, he was one of the best World of Heroes players in the world. Yes, Bjorn was being really gay by sharing that link with them. After a while, it became a long running inside joke. Then they became professionals, they started earning money and one by one, they forgot all about Atlanta. Bjorn had thought about him a little bit, when he was packing his bags on the bus to take him to the airport. He wondered if he would get to meet the legend in the flesh, for a split second, before he told himself to stop being ridiculous. Even if the team could make it through qualifiers, they were unlikely to face Atlanta’s team. They had been the winners last year and they were the team that fans and pundits alike expected to take this year’s winning spot. Now Atlanta was standing there, next to him, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if he was supposed to be there, standing next to Bjorn. Like he had planned it or something.
“Allegiance?”
“Al,” Bjorn heard himself say. “You can call me Al.”
“Okay, great,” Atlanta replied, flashing him a smile. It was probably the fact that he was still so star-struck that was making his heartbeat so fast in his chest. “It’s kind of loud in here. Do you smoke?”
Bjorn shook his head, wondering where this was going.
Atlanta laughed, throwing his head back. His accent wasn’t too bad, but Bjorn couldn’t quite place it. He sounded like he had been out of the UK for a while, though. “Neither do I, but I wanted an excuse to go outside.”
“With—with me?” Bjorn replied.
“I mean, yes, if that’s not too weird,” Atlanta said. “But it’s really packed in here, like. So if you want to—”
“Yeah,” Bjorn replied, licking his lips. “Yes. I was just thinking about going back to my room, actually.”
Atlanta nodded. “I know what that feels like. Being here can be really overwhelming. Once the DJ starts playing, we won’t even be able to hear each other, so—”
“There’s more? Doesn’t everyone have to get up really early?”
Atlanta threw his head back and laughed again. It seemed as though he did that every time he laughed, Bjorn thought. “Let me tell you the first secret you’re going to learn about being here.”
“Oh?”
“Everyone’s on drugs,” Atlanta said, setting his gaze on a couple of people in the crowd. “See that guy? The one with the red hat? He’s had a lot of coke. And the other one, the one with the blue shirt, he’s selling Heroes knitted dolls? There are Adderall pills in their intestines. I mean, the dolls are really cool, but that’s not why they’re so expensive.”
Bjorn’s eyes widened. “Are you joking?”
“No,” Atlanta said, shaking his head. “Come on, walk with me.”
Bjorn followed Atlanta outside to a beautifully lit pool surrounded by a perfectly manicured garden. There were a few smokers there, but Atlanta had been right. The crowd was less big and Bjorn was already feeling better.
Atlanta sat down on a bench near the entrance of the pool. Bjorn sat down next to him. He still wasn’t sure what was happening. Why was this man, the best player in the world, talking to him? He couldn’t just ask that, could he? No, that would be rude. He didn’t want to do anything that might put him off. The fact that Atlanta was talking to Bjorn in the first place was nothing short of a miracle. Once he was sitting again, he kept drinking his whiskey, which was now mostly water from the mountain of ice that the bartender had put in it.
“This is your first time here, isn’t it?” Atlanta said.
Bjorn nodded. He didn’t like admitting it, but everyone had been new at one time or another. There was no shame in it. At least that’s what he told himself as he felt the best player in the world dress him down.
“Relax,” Atlanta said. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just that, I kind of wish someone had told me about all of the things I had to face here when I first arrived.”
Bjorn smiled. “Weren’t you here for the first tournament?”
Atlanta smiled back at him, his dark green eyes shining under the dim electric light of the tall tiki lamp next to them. “A fan?”
“I don’t think anybody could have made it this far without being your fan,” Bjorn said, then quickly shut his mouth. The last thing he wanted to do was seem like a crazy stalker. His comment probably verged into crazy stalker territory.
“You’re canny sweet, you are,” Atlanta said, taking a swig of his drink. Bjorn looked at him with a furrowed brow.
“Sorry,” Atlanta said. “The more I drink, the more the Geordie in me comes out. I’m not really supposed to be drinking that much, but I have pretty bad social anxiety and crowds put me on edge.”
“Me too,” Bjorn said. “Guess that’s why we chose the job where you get to sit behind a computer all day.”
“In your house,” Atlanta replied, grinning. “In your pants.”
“And nothing else.”
“And nothing else,” Atlanta agreed. “Then we have to come to places like this to actually earn money. So I feel like we may have shot ourselves in the foot here. But anyway, we weren’t to know.”
“Well, you weren’t to know,” Bjorn replied, chewing on some ice with his back teeth. “I knew. I still wanted it, because it’s worth it, you know? The glory. The respect.”
Atlanta snickered. “Al, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but e-sports are nothing like the Olympics. Why do you think people take so many drugs?”
“Because they’re losers?”
“Because they can,” Atlanta replied. “Because there’s no regulatory body that makes people behave here. There’s just people fumbling, trying to make it into something serious. There’s money in it, sure, and it’s becoming this bigger and bigger thing as the years go by. But right now, e-sports are a footnote when it com
es to competitive sports. And unless you earn millions of dollars, nobody is going to pay attention to you.”
“You mean when,” Bjorn replied. The alcohol had gone a little to his head and, without intending for it to happen, an incredible opportunity had fallen into his lap. “When it happens. Because it happened to you, didn’t it?”
“Aye,” Atlanta said. “But I’m a very lucky man. I don’t know if anyone else is going to be that lucky.”
“You mean if you’re that lucky again,” Bjorn said, his eyes narrowing and his smile turning into a grin.
Atlanta nodded thoughtfully at that. “I don’t need the cash,” he said. “I’ve made plenty. My teammates have made a good amount, too, but—well, let’s just say they don’t have access to the same resources as I do. I’m sure you can understand how that gets a little tricky. I can’t exactly let them down, right?”
“No,” Bjorn replied. “Once you’re in this, you’re kind of in it for years. Whether you like it or not.”
“Exactly,” Atlanta said. “You don’t seem that excited for your first time here, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“I’m excited,” Bjorn said, shaking his head. “I’m excited, I’m just scared. So many people are counting on me, y’know? And then there’s my mother. Like, she couldn’t be more disappointed in me. I think she’d be more proud of me if I was a burlesque stripper or something.”
That was the first time that Bjorn noticed how Atlanta was looking at him. His gaze went from his face down all the way to through the rest of his body, in a way that, if Bjorn didn’t know better, he might have described as hungry. But Bjorn did know better. The idea of that was ridiculous.
“That would be quite the sight,” Atlanta finally said.
“Wouldn’t it just?” Bjorn replied, laughing. Atlanta was looking ahead, taking a sip of his drink.
“I understand,” Atlanta finally said, breaking the silence that was stretching between them. “My parents didn’t get it, either. They still don’t. They know I live down in London and travel a lot. When someone asks them what I do, they say I do something with computers.”
Bjorn smiled again. “That’s clever.”
Atlanta shrugged. “Clever, yeah, I guess. I mean, I’ve started to do it myself. I’ve tried telling guys I’m a professional video gamer, but that doesn’t quite get me the response I’m looking for. Unless the response I’m looking for is that they think I’m an unemployed bum every time I’m trying to pull.”
“I understood some of those words,” Bjorn replied.
Atlanta laughed, his black curly hair moving behind his ears when he threw his head back. “It’s not good for picking up guys, that’s all I’m saying. Everyone thinks I’m telling them a euphemism for being on the dole or something.”
“Oh,” Bjorn replied, his eyes widening. What Atlanta had said was just starting to sink in. He had said guys, hadn’t he? He had said guys twice in a row. Was Atlanta gay? Was the way that he had looked at Bjorn real? It had to be in his head. It had to be. No one looked at him like that. No girls from school, no girls from home, and certainly not the best e-sports player in the world. He had to gather his courage before he asked the question, but he had to know. He would always regret not asking. “You’re gay?”
Atlanta snickered. “No, I’m picking up guys to recruit them,” he said. Then he saw the look on Bjorn’s face and rolled his eyes. “Yes, Al. Gay as a bloody Christmas tree.”
“Oh,” Bjorn said, again. There was something about Atlanta that made it hard for him to talk. At least harder than he normally found it, which was strange. He was shy, and he wasn’t good with crowds, but he was usually a pretty good conversationalist one-on-one. “Okay.”
Atlanta raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t know? I thought everybody knew.”
“I, um, no,” Bjorn said. “I don’t really know that much about you, to be honest. Just the standards, like your stats.”
“Nice,” Atlanta said. “It’s always better when that happens. It feels like I can actually be more myself, you know?”
Bjorn tilted his head and swallowed, his cheeks reddening. Had he—no. There was no way that was what was happening. “Be more yourself with what?”
This time, Atlanta’s green eyes widened. “Wait. Fuck.”
“What?”
“I think this may have been a misunderstanding,” Atlanta said, after a pause. “You’re not gay, are you?”
“N-no,” Bjorn stammered as he felt his cheeks redden. “Did you think I was?”
“Ignore me,” Atlanta snapped. “I’m obviously an idiot.”
“No, I didn’t mean anything like that,” Bjorn quickly replied, getting to his feet as Atlanta did so and scurrying next to him. “It’s okay that you thought I was gay. Really. I’m just, y’know, not.”
Atlanta smiled, chugging the rest of his drink before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Aye,” he said. “I tell you what, lad. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I divvn’t kna ya from Adam.”
Bjorn laughed, trying to ignore how hot his face was. Maybe Atlanta couldn’t see it under the dim electric tiki lights. Luckily, Bjorn had the cover of the night sky to hide under, but it may not have been enough. “I have no idea what that means.”
“It means that I was wrong and I’m sorry to have bothered you,” Atlanta said.
“Wait, you were trying to—”
“Pull,” Atlanta said, winking at him. “Normally, I wouldn’t have just come up to you. I would have just used Grindr or something. God knows there are enough closeted boys here. It’s just—ugh, forget it. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
Bjorn shook his head. “You didn’t bother me.”
“You’re canny sweet, you are,” Atlanta replied, smiling at him. “But I can tell when I’m not wanted. It was nice to meet you, anyway. Maybe I’ll see you around?”
“Yeah,” Bjorn replied, swallowing. “Maybe.”
He stood there with an empty glass in his hand as he watched Atlanta walk back into the hotel.
Chapter Four
Mickey looked at himself in the mirror, pushing his hair back from his face. There were dark circles under his eyes. He opened his mouth to look at his tongue and at his reddened throat. He had drunk far too much the night before, but it was the only way that he knew how to cope with the huge crowds. Normally, it was totally fine. He would end with a hook-up up in his private suite, or he would mess around with someone in the bathroom. When that part of the night rolled around, Mickey knew how to use his phone. Something had happened the night before, though. He had seen that guy, the one with the blond hair, sitting on that couch and looking all—ugh. He didn’t even want to think about it. He was tired and hungover, but there was still something that guy that could get Mickey going. He hadn’t felt like that since school. He didn’t like it then, and he didn’t like it now. There was also the fact that he had made a fool of himself to that person, that person that he didn’t know and might eventually end up being a competitor.
Not that he seemed confident enough to really take someone like Mickey on. Not when it came to the game, anyway. As far as his sex life, Mickey had been shut down and hard. He was actually kind of glad about it, in a way. If Allegiance had been gay, and God, he had hoped he had as soon as he had seen those beautiful lips and that incredible blond hair, it was doubtful that Mickey could have performed very well. If he could have performed at all. He smiled at that thought; maybe it was a good thing that the guy wasn’t gay, then. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise.
It had been so long, though. Not since he had had sex; it wasn’t as though Mickey struggled to hook up with guys. The first reaction that he had when he had seen Allegiance had been physical, of course. He was quite aware of that. His cock was also currently, painfully, aware of that. But there had been something else, something when they were talking. He had actually enjoyed their conversation. Maybe that’s what it had been; he had felt at ease. Not
like when he was stuck with some fanboy that really wanted to suck his cock. Not that he minded that—there were definitely perks.
Mickey shook his head. It didn’t matter anyway. This wasn’t someone that was interested in him, and it was never going to be someone that was interested in him. He was just someone that Mickey had been wrong about. It had happened before, but as he got older, his gaydar had gotten better.
“Not good enough,” he told his reflection, shaking his head and smiling. Unfortunately, he remembered every single detail of the night before. Maybe he owed Allegiance an apology. He hadn’t wanted to make him uncomfortable. And, he had to be honest with himself, he wanted to talk to him again.
Maybe all he had to do was get the damn blond out of his system. Then everything was sure to go back to normal.
***
Mickey was swamped by people asking for autographs the moment he went down to the lobby. He had given a few autographs before, but the crowds were new, and they put him on edge. It wasn’t that the tournament last year hadn’t been popular; it was that he, as a person, had skyrocketed in popularity over the past ten months. It had, of course, been completely incidental. Mickey had never wanted popularity and he had never thought that he was going to get it by becoming a professional e-sports player. It was the kind of popularity that, at least as far as he was concerned, was far better suited for a professional track runner or something like that.
He signed autographs, took selfies, and tried to smile at the people surrounding him. He had only gone downstairs early to see if he could catch Allegiance and talk to him before the games actually started. He knew that he wouldn’t be facing Allegiance any time soon because he had asked his manager about it. He had tried not to, but he had ended up texting him as soon as he was done brushing his teeth. Out of curiosity, he had said. Of course, his manager didn’t believe him. But his manager got thirty percent of what Mickey made, so his manager’s job was to keep him happy. His manager, a short and buff guy that looked like he had no place in e-sports, had sent him back a schedule of the qualifiers. Allegiance’s team was up during the second round of qualifiers. Mickey’s team wouldn’t be up until later, when they would televise the event, since that would be what would draw in the crowd. Nobody cared about Allegiance’s team. Except for Syn, Mickey guessed. Syn was always on the lookout for teams that might overtake them, that might actually make the entire thing a challenge. Then again, Syn was incredibly paranoid. He called himself a realist, but he wasn’t—or Mickey just didn’t want to live in Syn’s reality. Whatever it was, he was glad that Syn had pointed him out all the same.