Morgan Rielly Imagine

Morgan Rielly - Part Fourteen

Turns out I'm bad at Call of Duty.

Like, really bad.

Morgan is sitting with his elbows on his knees as his fingers rub his temples in circular patterns. I press my lips together and cross my legs, looking nonchalantly around the living room as the screen replays the event that took place moments ago. My character somehow not only kills Morgan's character, who was on my own team, but I somehow killed my own character in the process.

"So, how did I do?" I ask.

Morgan just turns his head in his hands to glare at me and I look away guilty.

"Just a question," I mumble and he chuckles.

"I don't understand, it's been two weeks. We've played almost every day and you're still..." he trails off, gesturing at the television screen.

"Horrible? God awful? The worst? A dead cat could play better than me?"

Morgan laughs and again runs a hand through his hair, a tick for him when he's either nervous or frustrated. My guess is right now it's the latter of the two.

"I mean, I wasn't going to say that. But yes."

I join him in laughter and set my controller down on the coffee table.

"Well, you got what you wished for, Mo. You're better than me at something," I say and grab our now empty plates, the remains of chicken parm on his plate as it's another game day and head into the kitchen.

In the last two weeks, Morgan and I have created a new system. Every morning he walks into my apartment, I gave him a key after I got tired of listening to him knock, and I have his cup of coffee waiting for him. He sits with me while I eat breakfast and then we drive to the arena together, usually in his car. Apparently my vehicle isn't up to his standards.

After his practice, we ride home together, I've taken to working from home a bit more. Morgan usually goes and takes a nap or goes out to lunch with his teammates and then we drive separate to the arena on game nights. One of us usually stays much later than the other, or Morgan likes to go out with his teammates some nights as well. Sometimes I come home right away, sometimes I go out with the girls that held true to their word and have quickly become my best friends.

I even got added to the group message.

But nights like right now, when there's no game and no early morning practice, we're together. And I love it. My fascination with him has quickly changed to a strong feeling of friendship, and my relationship with Nick has gotten better as well.

I'm happier.

I don't dread Nick's phone calls and what they might lead to, I don't ignore his messages anymore and he's happy I'm happy.

At least that's what he says.

Sometimes when I go on a long spiel about my plans for the day and who they include, he gets quiet. Every time I ask him what's wrong he clears his throat and tells me nothing is wrong. And most of the time I believe him.

"I just don't understand," Morgan says again, staring at the screen in disbelief. "I never thought I would play someone that was worse than Matts," he trails off and I flush.

I watch Morgan play online with his friends and teammates sometimes, not willingly of course but Morgan says it's a good idea to study. How someone studies for video games is beyond me. But I have learned that Auston is still horrible at the game, just not as horrible as he used to be.