Chapter 19 The Earth’s Core
nineteen
the earth’s core
I know what to wear on not-a-date; I’m good at making myself look like a misshapen lump of heavy fabrics, especially in autumnal weather. But I feel like I should probably make some sort of effort on a date, even if it’s just Tuesday morning coffee again.
I’m aware that I’m overthinking this, but I still sift through all the clothes in my closet and drawers—and the pile of clean laundry that I’ve needed to fold and put away for the past two weeks—weeding out anything that is the colour of poop. Which is a lot of what I own, apparently.
After a minor meltdown where I almost put on the one dress that I own, despite it being a summer dress, I end up in my usual formula: high-waisted pants that make my wide butt seem even wider, and a chunky cardigan over a t-shirt.
But I specifically chose a t-shirt that Victory designed for me, with a graphic of Hadley on the front and bold text that reads HAD ENOUGH?
Because this is how you dress for a date when you both are introverted weirdo nerds obsessed with The Stones of Ayor. I feel good about this. (I also feel incredibly nauseous, but it’s fine.)
I get to the café before Damien, once again, although this time I text him when I get there so I can order his drink with mine.
Actually text him, like with a phone number, instead of just through the janky Play’N app.
We’ve never done that before. It’s like we are officially more than just gaming friends now.
I’m grateful that I can snag the armchairs by the window again, since the more comfortable I can make this for myself, the better. I sink into the soft upholstery and let myself slump against the seat back, despite my current instinct to perch at the edge so I can take flight at a moment’s notice.
I’d like to say I haven’t been this nervous about seeing Damien in person since the first time we came here for coffee over a month ago, but there’s part of me that’s always this nervous about seeing him. Or maybe nervous isn’t the right word. Excitedly anxious? Anxiously excited?
Pal’s voice in my head offers the term nerd-girl horny, but I blot it out.
At least I try to, but I curse under my breath when Damien walks in and it becomes painfully obvious. I thought I’d only ever had a crush on Cameron before now, but I’m starting to think that I’ve never had an actual crush on anyone before. Because this is nothing like that.
Damien is grinning from ear to ear as he walks up to me, and on some level, I know that he looks like a complete dork, but that only makes my heart pound harder in my chest. He’s a dork but he has no shame about it, which is apparently the hottest thing ever.
Nerd-girl horny, indeed.
“Hey,” he says as he shrugs off his jacket and hangs it over the back of his armchair before taking a seat. He looks at me with a curious expression, still smiling. “You look like Jarl Balgruuf.”
At first I think he’s telling me I look like a cowardly old man hiding in his keep to avoid picking a side in a war, and I don’t know if I should feel offended, but then I realize how I’m slouched in my chair—as I always am—with my elbow propped up.
“This is how I sit,” I tell him, and he laughs. Which might be my favourite sound in the world. I’ve always liked his laugh in his streams, but it sounds even better in person, I’ve noticed.
I feel like I’m cataloguing things about him, and I don’t know why. Things I’ve noticed before but didn’t let myself think about, because if I thought about them then I might never stop thinking about them. But I’m allowed to now. Maybe.
Damien starts talking about the latest drama with Malcolm—apparently Evan wants to slow things down a bit, while he’s about ready to start picking out dinnerware—but I can’t stop staring at his hands as he picks up his mug.
Can hands be sexy? Is that a thing? It sounds absurd.
Maybe there’s something seriously wrong with me.
I tell him about the latest drama with Marie—that she’s started looking for a job locally because she is officially moving back home, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
“Some sad, desperate part of me hopes this means we can be friends,” I admit solemnly. “But I worry she’s just going to be a constant source of judgment in my life, like nothing I ever do will be good enough.”
Damien nods but doesn’t offer advice. Like he knows that I don’t want advice, I just want to vent. I want to be petty and whiny and bitchy about this without trying to solve it right now. He lets me.
“Have you given any thought to doing a part two speedrun?” he asks. He also knows that I want a change in subject. “Unless you’re sick of SOA for now, which is understandable.”
I laugh at that. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to be sick of it.”
“You still have the final battle to do, right?”
“Yeah, but I haven’t even finished Treagan’s companion quest line,” I say before loudly slurping up some cold brew. Unintentionally loud, but I brush past it. “I want to complete all of them before I decide who to romance.”
“Wow. Thorough.”
“What? You don’t do that?”
“I fast-tracked Cartwright’s quest line,” he says with a shrug. “We’ve been engaged for weeks now. I haven’t even started Helena’s quest line yet.”
“Okay, well, hers is boring, but still.” I laugh again. “I didn’t realize you were a Carty.”
He looks embarrassed by that. “There’s a reason he’s popular among certain demographics, okay?”
“Oh my god.” I suppress a gleeful cackle. “You think he’s hot!”
He’s definitely embarrassed now. “Everyone does.”
“Not me,” I say with an unintentionally smug tone. “Then again, I don’t think anyone is hot.” I refrain from adding, except you.
He raises an eyebrow skeptically, glancing at my t-shirt. “Not even Hadley? Your husband?”
“Nope.” I hold up one hand, like Marge Simpson holding a potato. “I just think he’s neat.”
I do understand that part of Hadley’s popularity is that many people think he’s attractive; I’m pretty sure if Stone’s Throw Studios got a TV show made of the game, Henry Cavill would be cast to play him, and therefore even my mom would watch it.
But I just think he’s cool and funny and it’s nice that he’s not the worst in combat situations.
Damien laughs a little, shaking his head as he lifts his coffee cup to his lips, like he’s hiding behind it. When he sets it back down, he clears his throat awkwardly. “He, uh, may have been one of the reasons that I first realized I was, um… Yeah.”
“That’s adorable.”
“Shut up.”
“How old were you when Three came out?” I ask curiously.
“I think it came out around my eighteenth birthday? I got it as a gift, anyway,” he says. “I’d played the other games in the series before that, though.”
“Ah. I was sixteen. Three was my first,” I tell him. “I can’t even play One, it’s so crusty.”
He snorts. “It’s a bit of a different experience, yeah.”
“Though I know people complain about the combat in Three being too spongy, at least at lower levels, and One didn’t have that problem. So maybe I should give it a chance.”
“I’d definitely recommend it,” he says, and I appreciate the fact that he’s not telling me it’ll be too hard for me, as so many fans of the first game seem to think. They act like anyone who likes Three is a wimp and wouldn’t be able to handle it.
“Well,” I add, stirring the remains of my beverage with the flimsy paper straw, “maybe I’ll try to finish up with Four in the next week or so and then we can consider doing that part two speedrun?
” I know I shouldn’t be so keen on doing another SOA stream, given that it is so off-brand for my channel, but it was actually really fun.
It takes him a second to follow along, but then he nods. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He downs the rest of his coffee in one big gulp, and I start to panic.
This is ending. This is going to be over soon. I’m not ready.
“We could go watch the second half of a run now, if you want,” I blurt out. “Up until the final battle, anyway.”
If he notices my very obvious and limp ruse to get him back to my apartment, he doesn’t mention it. “Yeah, okay,” he says casually. “I’m curious if there’s a faster way to get to Uthport that doesn’t involve going all the way through the Gleam Woods.”
“Right. Of course.”
I think this means we’re actually going to watch a speedrun.
I can be normal about this.
I repeat: I CAN BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS.
I can be normal about the fact that Damien is sitting on my couch again, and I am sitting next to him again, and my leg is touching his again, and he’s watching the speedrun on-screen like he’s actually paying attention.
Which is fine, because I’m totally paying attention, too. Just maybe not to the right thing.
“That was a pretty neat shortcut,” he says, chewing his lip pensively. And I know that he is because I’m watching his face instead of the screen.
I’m aware on some level I should look away, look at the screen, pretend that I know what’s going on, but instead I keep staring at him. Because I can’t not.
And eventually he notices.
His eyes slide sideways towards me, but he doesn’t turn his head—I wonder how much he can actually see when it’s not through his glasses. This is absolutely when I should look away. But I don’t.
“Are you going to maul me again?” he asks with a small smirk, and I cover my face as it immediately burns with embarrassment.
“Oh my god—”
“Hey.” He laughs lightly and turns towards me to pry my hands off my face. “I was kidding.”
“But maybe I was going to!” I wail, squeezing my eyes shut as I try to hide my face again despite him having both my hands in his grip.
“Okay.” He laughs again. “I feel like we should get something clear, here.”
I squint one eye open at him. “Yes?”
“There’s nothing you could do to me that I won’t be into,” he says, and I get another wave of embarrassment when I remember some of the things I’ve thought about doing with him.
“What if I kicked you in the nutsack?” I say jokingly, trying to deflect.
“Okay, almost nothing you could do.”