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“There you are!”
The door opens, flooding the room with multi-colored lights and the blare of music. Vincent squints, covering his eyes with his bare arm. Vincent had snuck off during the third or fourth round of drinks, content with his level of buzz and needing a break from the electronic music loud enough to make the living room shake. He’s familiar with the Cloud9 house from the various house parties thrown there over the years, and an unoccupied guest room was calling to be his safe spot.
“Dude, I’ve been looking for you for like, hours.” Peter says, although Vincent is sure he’s been gone for 40 minutes maximum. Peter closes the door behind him, reducing the outside noise to a soft beat.
“Yup, here I am,” Vincent replies, awkwardly waving.
“Yeah, you,” Peter grins, collapsing beside him on the bed, “the best support in the world.”
Peter’s never been one to turn down celebrating after a big win, or a small win. Or even a decent enough loss. His ADC pulls his arms around Vincent’s shoulders, the stench of booze enough to Vincent wince. Peter locks the shorter man in place — not that Vincent had any plans to escape.
“Well, I’ve got a pretty good bot laner.” Vincent says, tapping the back of Peter’s hand. Peter responds with a satisfied grin. The only thing Peter likes more than winning is being praised for winning.
So he expects Peter to say something smug and self-congratulatory about how he is the carry. What he gets instead is: “You know, if you were a girl, I’d kiss you.”
There’s enough tequila running through his blood vessels to stop his mind from kicking into panic mode. “That’s a weird thing to say.”
“No, I’m serious, dude. You would be a perfect girl—”
Vincent groans. “Shut up, Peter.”
“—Or, if you have a sister—”
“Peter, shut up.”
His carry snorts, lolling his head to the side and knocking their temples together. It shouldn’t make his stomach drop.
Vincent has only just begun to feel safe thinking about it in the privacy of his mind — that he’s gay. The thought of speaking it out loud — or, God forbid, to his team — is outside of reality.
Maybe he’s a piece of shit for not letting Peter in on it; but it’s nice having a guy who flirts with him and talks about how hot he is. Even if Peter doesn’t mean it, it’s the closest thing Vincent can get. He knows he’s going to lose it all if the truth comes out; no more big hugs after a successful game, or affectionate ruffles through Vincent’s hair when Peter is trying to be annoying, or kisses blown across the stage just to make the other laugh. Definitely no more lying together drunk on the same shitty mattress with their legs half folded over each other, like they are now.
He can never tell Peter.
“I think you’re being weird.” Vincent says, avoiding eye contact the best he can and hoping Peter loses interest. His friend goes silent, and Vincent relaxes, thinking he’s avoiding the situation.
Peter doesn’t, in fact, lose interest.
“I don’t think I’m gay.” The ease in which Peter says it makes a flicker of jealously spark in Vincent’s chest. “I’ve wondered about it, but I’ve never kissed another dude before, so…” Peter trails off, and before Vincent can interrogate what the hell he means by that, Peter’s eyes fix on him in a way that can only mean danger.
“Nope.” Vincent sits upright, just as Peter reaches out to grab him. “Noooo way.”
“C’mon, dude! Just one time?” Peter whines. He waggles his arms in the air helplessly, trying to lure Vincent back down.
“I’m not kissing you.” Vincent tries to make himself sound firm, but a fit of giggles overtakes him when he sees the genuine pout on Peter’s face.
“Why not? Do you think I’m ugly?” Peter pinches his support’s side to make him squirm.
Vincent shakes his head. “You’re fine.”
“I’m fine? I’m so fine and you still won’t give me a chance?”
Vince laughs again despite himself. “Yeah, and you’re so stupid too.”
“Give me a good reason and I’ll fuck off.”
Vincent licks his lips, staring down at his teammate. “What if… What if I’m such a good kisser I ruin girls for you forever?”
Peter stares at him, and Vincent might be the dumbest person who has ever lived.
“So that’s it, huh?” Peter taps his finger against his cheek, deep in thought. “You never bring girls around because you’re a heartbreaker.”
“That’s not—”
“No, no!” Peter joins him upright, wagging his finger. “You can’t back out of this one. You said it yourself, you’re just too good in the sack.”
“I was joking!” Vincent’s voice breaks. Peter’s intense, serious stare undercuts the need to bury him alive in shame. Vincent cracks again, laughing until his vision blurs. Peter follows, bursting into laughter and leaning against Vincent for stability. Peter’s head on his shoulder, and fingers on the back of Vincent’s neck.
“This is stupid.” Vincent snorts, allowing himself to lean into Peter’s company. He can’t have this forever; Peter will find out one day.
Peter pulls back to make eye contact, a firm determination written on his face. It’s nigh impossible to say no to Peter when he wants something. “I have to know now. You can’t say that and leave me wondering for the rest of my life.”
Vincent looks down, licking his lips again. Peter wouldn’t be haunted by missing the chance to kiss; he knows that. But Vincent might.
“Just once.” Vincent concedes. It’s an awful idea, because Peter is straight, and his best friend, and straight. He internally apologizes to his future self for the shit he’ll have to dig out of one day as he lets Peter slot closer to him, watching him like he could bolt at any second.
“If you want me to stop, you can kick me in the balls, or whatever. I won’t take it personally.” Peter informs him. Vincent nods. It’s the worst idea in his entire life. But Peter’s hand is on the side of his face, and the last shred of self-preservation prevents him from leaning into it.
He wants to say it means nothing, that kissing Peter is just as flat as the handful of girls he’s tried to hook up with in the past, and they can successfully tuck this moment away as a stupid mistake to laugh about in the future.
But it’s not. It’s nice, really nice. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, Peter’s championship-winning fingertips slide down his cheek to rest on his shoulder. They know how to move. In-game synergy translating into reading each other so easily. Yes, Peter wants to move here; he wants to tilt his head to the right. He wants to part his lips just enough for the air between them to merge.
Peter pulls away before Vincent can.
“Happy now?” Vincent asks, forcing himself to smile again. His heart beats out of rhythm under his ribs. Moment over, he can spend the rest of his life burying it.
They last only one beat of silence before Peter leans back in for more. One kiss to Vincent’s jawline to draw a sharp inhale out of him, accompanied by an affectionate snort from his ADC, and then their lips meet. Peter grabs a fistful of Vincent’s hair, his intentions to keep going made clear.
He’s never going to tell Peter.
Vincent pulls Peter down on top of him, a rush of adrenaline blooming outward from where they connect. He wraps his arms around Peter’s neck, just as the tip of his tongue pushes into Vincent’s mouth.
He’s never ever going to tell Peter.
Vincent thinks he would be happy never to hear the words League of Legends ever again.
Even watching his team secure the enemy base brings him little joy after being trapped behind a grey screen for the past 30 seconds — and counting! He will be happy to shelve it away under the past section of his life and move on to whatever not agonizing hobbies guys his age have.
“Bio, buddy. Can we talk about something?” The fuzzy Discord audio cuts through the negative cloud smothering him.
Vincent has been out of the closet for about a week when Peter begins spamming him with duo requests. Not at all unusual, Peter always comes crawling to him first after one too many Alistars ruin his skill shot lineups, but tonight’s insistence they do it off stream causes Vincent’s blood pressure to fluctuate. After two games with nothing serious, Vincent let his guard down. Too soon, he scolds himself.
“We’ve got time; what’s up?”
“Pause the queue. It’s serious.”
Sinking into his chair, Vincent stops the lobby. He looks anywhere but at the screen, waiting for Peter to collect his thoughts.
“So…” Peter begins. He questions whether seeing Peter’s face would make this better or worse, instead of avoiding eye contact with a static profile picture. “When did you know?”
Vincent racks his brain for anything else Peter could refer to, any option to avoid this conversation. He comes up empty-handed, and forces himself to ask, “That I’m gay?”
“Yeah.”
He can tell Peter is rolling his eyes from the other side of the computer. The blood turns thick in his veins. The moment he’s been dreading most of his adult life. “I mean I, I talked about it in the post.”
“You were already into guys when we used to mess around?”
Gravity doubles, crushing Vincent under its invisible weight. Peter doesn’t sound mad, but he’s seen his friend get tilted over far lesser things much quicker. He swallows and replies, “Yeah, I did.”
Peter pauses, and each second of silence is a festering ground for Vincent’s spiraling thoughts. Is he confused? Embarrassed? Disgusted? Betrayed? Vincent considers unplugging his computer and never logging in again when Peter speaks again.
“So I didn’t like… ruin girls for you, did I?”
“What?” The overwhelming dread stops in its tracks. Vincent stares at the blinking Discord icon for an explanation.
“Because, you know,” And maybe Vincent has spent too much time with Peter over the years, because he can picture the exact gesture he’s making on the other side. “If you didn’t know, then it’s like, fuck. Did I do that? What if I rearranged your brain or something?”
The disbelief pops into laughter.
“Peter, I’m… I’m saying this as a friend, okay? So don’t take it personally.” Vincent composes himself because it’s unbelievable. It’s such a Peter thing to worry about. “You’re not… that good. Good enough to change someone’s sexuality.”
“What? Bullshit, dude. I’m so good at gay sex.”
“You—”
“No way, you’re not downplaying this! I was there too. I had you begging for it.”
“I didn’t have another point of comparison!” Vincent defends himself, the hysterics over how ridiculous this moment in his life is being the only shield against collapsing from embarrassment.
“But you do now?”
“I—yes?”
He hears Peter huff. “Fine. Next time we hang out—”
“Absolutely not.” Vincent shuts down the suggestion before Peter can finish.
“Ugh, come on. Leena said it would be fine.”
“That’s not why — you asked her? She knows?”
Peter scoffs, “Of course, I tell Leena everything.”
“Oh, my God.” Vincent finds himself succumbing to despair again, this time on the entire opposite spectrum of reasons. The three of them planned to get lunch in a few weeks, and now he’s going to look Leena in the eye and know they’ve banged the same guy.
“So, it’s cool. Don’t worry about it.” Peter sounds so nonchalant that Vincent can only gawk at his computer screen.
“I am hanging up.” Vincent states, and does so before Peter can further protest. He drops his headset on the desk and rises from his seat. Rubbing his face hard enough to make black spots appear in the corner of his vision, he retreats into his apartment to sleep off this embarrassment. A bright red circle on his calendar marking plans with his nightmare of a best friend catches his eye.
Right. Lunch together. End of the month.
Vincent’s face flushes and tells himself that Peter was just fucking around to make him feel comfortable. Surely, that’s all.