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what they needed me to be, that was it. I haven’t had so much as a whisper from any of those . . . from any of them.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you, and I’m sorry it’s made you so upset.” Kit didn’t sound all that sorry, and as Drew was getting sadder, he seemed to be getting colder. “But you do realise the reason it happened is that everyone in Anni thinks about HoL the same way you do? That the game isn’t real, that the people aren’t real. That you have no obligations and nothing to offer each other except your DPS and your raid buffs.”
“That’s . . . I mean . . . I . . .” Nope. Not happening. There were thoughts and feelings and stuff, and Drew had no idea what any of them were.
“And what I really don’t get is how you can have gone through that and experienced firsthand how shitty it is and still be so keen for me to do the exact same thing to other people. People, by the way, who have actually been there for me when I’ve needed them. Been there for me in a way that nobody else ever has.”
“Okay but . . .” Drew rallied slightly. He wasn’t sure how he’d got quite so swept off course, but he was sure he had genuine grievance. Somewhere. “That’s no excuse for blanking our mates when we’ve gone round their house for the evening.”
“Drew, I’ve known them a month. I like them, but they’re your mates, not our mates. I didn’t mean to be rude, but I told you something came up.”
“What? What came up that was so important that you had to wreck everybody’s evening?”
“You remember that poet Tiff was seeing? They got drunk and hooked up last week and now there’s a performance poetry thing she’s done all over Facebook, and it’s all about Tiff, and it’s really horrible, and she’s really upset about it, and she needed someone to talk to, and Jacob’s got kids, and if I’d found out about it earlier I’d have cancelled, but we were already at Sanee and Steff’s, and frankly, you’ve made me so fucking self-conscious about my friends that I didn’t feel I could tell you about it.”
Drew hit one-hundred-percent sadness, crushed under this horrible mess of loss and failure. The only thing worse than sucking at something was sucking at something you thought you were okay at. And up until now, he’d thought he was an okay boyfriend. “You know you can tell me anything,” he mumbled.
“No, I really can’t.” Kit drew in a shuddery breath, and Drew realised he was close to tears. “I loved being with you and some of the time you made me feel amazing and cared for and sexy and wanted. But you also made me feel wrong and broken and like I was letting you down.”
Drew stared at him in horror. “I don’t think that. I’ve never thought that.”
“It doesn’t matter. Because you acted like you did. You got so hung up on HoL, and it was like you wanted to replace my friends with your friends. Like you were doing me a favour. But you just don’t get it. Jacob and Tiff and even Bjorn have been my best friends since I was fifteen. When I met them—even if it was just in a game—I stopped being lonely. I stopped feeling like I didn’t fit anywhere. It was when I first realised it was okay to just be me and people would like me for it.”
“I like you too,” put in Drew pitifully.
“I know, and when I first met you, it was like the final piece of the puzzle. Like there was this great guy who got me and didn’t want me to be different. Except then you did.” Kit pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. It glinted gold in the light from the bus stop. “And the worst of it is, I liked you so much that I tried to be different.”
Drew’s sadness had decreased by about ten percent, but only to make way for crippling fear. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean . . . like, any of this. Can we talk about or fix it or—”
The bus turned the corner and rumbled to a stop in front of them, all cartoon bright and empty. Drew glared at it as if he could force it away again with the power of his mind.
“Please,