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Everyone knew the choice:
Face the goddess of Death or sell your soul to the eternal championship.
After countless trials, games, and events, Jimmy still can't decide if he made the right decision.
Every cycle, 40 participants were chosen, and almost every cycle, without fail, Jimmy was one of them.
He knew the keeper favored him heavily, often purposefully trying to arrange a better team than most for him to compete with.
Despite this "advantage" and having competed in almost every event, Jimmy did not have the odds on his side. In his multitude of events, his teams seldom won.
Even with these abysmal odds, he remained a steadfast participant. The keeper had let him remain for this long, why would he ruin what was happening?
Jimmy would never admit it, but he always seemed to perform better when the keeper played. When his teams had won, it was almost always with the keeper by his side.
Every championship, he secretly hoped to be on the same team as the keeper. Nearly every time, he was met with disappointment and would throw longing glances across the arena, praying he would catch the other's eye.
However futile these attempts were, the keeper seemed to have picked up on his emotions. Scott was no stranger to romance, but rarely let it get in the way of his work. But there was something about Jimmy that captivated him.
Maybe it was his eyes, how he took in everything with a mix of determination and awe, despite the thousands and thousands of times he had seen every scenario. Maybe it was his hands, rough and calloused from competing, but still looking soft enough for Scott to want so badly to hold.
He would set himself on Jimmy’s team more often, disregarding his usual caveats about fairness and balance.
Every time he did this, he noticed how Jimmy stood just a little closer to him during the game selection. He noticed how Jimmy’s hands would twitch, sometimes shifting towards Scott’s, before clamping back down at his sides. Every time he noticed this happening, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and take them.
But he couldn’t. Scott couldn’t bring himself to break the mold of what he had so carefully crafted. The feelings he may or may not have harbored for the other man needed to stay closed up, locked in his chest. However painful the ache of pining may have been, he needed it to stay this way.
He was a god of sorts, and Jimmy was a mortal. Even participants in the championship faded away eventually, and became memories lost to time. Scott couldn’t take loving if it only meant losing in the end.