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.
Morgan let me listen to his headset one day when they were in a tournament that lasted long into the night and I had had to remove them after just a few moments. I can take vulgar language, but some of the things they were saying had me fifty shades of red and I felt the need to cleanse my soul afterwards.
Since then, I just sit back and listen to what Morgan says in response to unheard jabs. I think he tones down his own language when I'm with him, he shoots me nervous looks when he says something particularly vulgar.
But right now, it looks like I finally broke him.
"So," I start, examining my nails, "does this mean I don't have to play anymore?"
Morgan rolls his head to the side at me again, that same skeptical look in his eyes that he gave me the first week I was here.
"Absolutely not! Just right now I think I need a little break," he grabs the remote from the coffee table and switches the input of the television to regular programming and we are met with a steamy make out session between two characters of Morgan's favorite show.
I look away suddenly embarrassed and Morgan clears his throat, another tick when he's nervous.
"So, ready for Pittsburgh next week?" He asks me loudly, probably trying to drown out the wet sounds of the two actors on the screen.
"Yeah," I say just as loudly, "it will be fun."
I still hate when Morgan mentions Nick. I still get that uncomfortable feeling in my stomach at the mention of his name. Because even if my friendship with Morgan has taken a bigger hold on me, I still have to make myself stop staring at him at times. And it makes me feel incredibly guilty.
Morgan nods and finally has the realization that he can change the channel and suddenly we are watching some paranormal show.
"Change it! Change it!" I squeal, covering my eyes and leaning back in my seat.
"What? Why?" Morgan startles, nearly dropping the remote at my outburst.
"I can't watch these!"
"Why?" He laughs at me.
"I scare too easily and I live alone! Those two things don't mix!" I exclaim, pulling my legs up onto the plush couch as if putting more of my body between the screen and me would protect me.
"It's just a show, Y/N," Morgan says between laughs and I scowl behind my hands.
"You don't know that!" I snap.
"We live in a secure apartment complex, what do you think is going to happen to you?"
"Ghosts don't care about security guards!"
"You think there are ghosts here?"
"Shh, don't talk too loud. They might hear you," I whisper at him, sliding down in my seat so my back is nearly on the cushion beneath me.
At this Morgan laughs even harder and grabs my wrists to try and bring my hands away from my face. I squeal and pull my hands back.
"Y/N!" Morgan says once again pulling my wrists and in the moment I'm annoyed that he's so much stronger than I am. "You're being ridiculous."
"I am not! I'm being respectful to the dead!"
He finally manages to claw one of my hands away from my face and his eyes dance with humor as he stares down at me, much closer that I would have expected.
"You think I would let a ghost get you?"
"You don't live here, you wouldn't know if something got me during the night!" I retort, still trying to wiggle my hand out of his grasp.
"Tell you what, you watch this show with me and I'll sleep on your couch tonight to make sure nothing happens to you."
I stop struggling and stare up at him. "Are you insane?" I say. "I'm not watching this!" I look at the screen in time to see one of the reenactments of a mutilated face behind a small girls shoulder and yelp, covering my face with a pillow.
"Oh my god, Y/N! It's just an actor!"
"Morgan," I whine, "please pick something else."
"Nope," Morgan says, shifting so he's right next to me, "it caught my interest."
I groan and when the first commercial hits a few seconds later, I grab the blanket from the back of the couch and fling it over myself. The couch is a very oddly proportioned and while I'm against the armrest, Morgan who is right beside me is also on the same section as I am. I pull the blanket to my eyes and feel Morgan's arm as he reaches across me, fingers fumbling between my leg and the side of couch trying to find the button to release the footrest.
I ignore the sudden warmth spreading through my veins and clutch the blanket tighter to hide my reddening cheeks. I let out another yelp of surprise when he finally finds the footrest and we recline a few inches.
"You really do scare easy don't you?" Morgan teases, his arm now around my shoulders as I huddle under the protection of my blanket.
"I don't want to talk about it," I mutter back and he chuckles.
"Can I get under there?" He asks and I feel a tug on the side of my blanket.
"Only if you promise to not try and purposely scare me the rest of the night."
"Deal."
I release one edge of the blanket and both our bodies disappear beneath the soft brown fabric. The pressure of Morgan's thigh against mine and the feel of his warm arm above my head makes my senses hyperaware.
Do friends do this?
I think about the times I hung out with my friends back home in Edmonton and in Montreal. I've cuddled with all of them many a times. But, they were all female. My thoughts flash to Nick and how he would feel about me pushed up against another guy. Would I like it if the roles were reversed?
"Have you always been a chicken when it comes to these things?"
Morgan's question wakes me out of my deep inner thinking and I listen for a moment to make sure the commercials are still playing before lowering the blanket down to my chin. And just like that, all thoughts of Nick and whether this was okay or not vanished.
"I didn't used to be. It was when I moved out to go to college in the states. I shared a house with a few roommates my second year, the house creaked and moaned all the time and it was unnerving. One girl was certain that the place was haunted and another girl got one of those board things that you can communicate with the dead with," I shudder at the memory. "Ever since then I can't watch these shows unless I'm at home visiting my family."
Morgan opens his mouth to reply but the opening scenes of the show returning appear on the screen and I duck under the covers again. Morgan's side vibrates against me as he laughs above the blanket.
"You're not even going to watch it with me? I told you I would stay," Morgan says and his hands find purchase on the blanket on both sides of my head and with one tug that I didn't feel coming, I'm suddenly above the blanket again.
"Hey!" I complain and try sneaking back under.
"Nope," Morgan says, tucking the blanket tight against me so I can't wiggle under it. "I'm right here, just watch it with me."
"Morgan," I whine, pleading with my eyes but he quickly looks away.
"Don't you dare try and sway me," he says and I pout.
It always works.
Resigning to my fate, I settle back against the couch, putting as much distance between the television and myself. Morgan gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before draping his arm back across the couch.
It goes better than I thought it would. I pay attention when the 'survivors' are talking about their experience, and I look to the side of the screen when reenactments take place. My strategy works at first, Morgan only distracts me a few times and causes me to lose focus on when to look away and I jump. Each time the couch vibrates with his laughter though he tries to hide it.
Until finally, I don't look away in time and the face of a clown sends me over the edge. I let out a shout and dive under the blanket. Morgan is taken by surprise so I'm able to get the blanket over my head before he even recovers from my shout and without thinking, I push my face into his side.
Morgan tenses for a split second, and then I feel the warmth of his arm coming down around me and the blanket is pulled off of my head slowly. I keep my face firmly against his side even when I feel the weight of his stare.
"It's okay," he says gently, but I refuse to move and he eventually wraps his arm around my shoulders once more, but instead of pushing me away like I thought he would, he pulls me in closer.