-Swabbie-
Swabbie's squad was rostered to play at the end of the month. He vowed not to get distracted by Scrubbie, focusing on training in the Freeplay Arena every day to make sure they would be best they could possibly be. They were up against some Dishie squad so it would probably be a walk in the park - but training was training.
In the last week before the match, training slowed down. Swabbie wished it wouldn't, because it gave him time to think - he didn't want to think, his dreams were enough trouble without Scrubbie's lithe form appearing on the edge of his thoughts during the day as well.
With only a few days left until the match, Swabbie couldn't stand it any more. He waited outside the Snag Stand for Scrubbie to appear, stunning despite – or maybe because of - the layer of grease up his arms.
He looked upset. "Why are you here?" he said, voice oddly strained.
"I'm sorry," Swabbie replied. "I - I couldn't stay away."
"This will only make it harder," Scrubbie protested, pulling Swabbie into a patch of shadows.
"I'm sorry, listen, I just – I've been thinking about you constantly, it's driving me crazy, I just needed to see you."
"What about what I need?" Scrubbie protested, running his hands through his hair.
"What you need?" Swabbie said. "Honestly…" he reached up and stilled Scrubbie's frantic motions with gentle hands on his wrists. "I'd be willing to bet that you -" he lowered his voice to a whisper that shivered through Scrubbie like a physical chill, "need this too."
Scrubbie stared like a deer in headlights for a long moment before pulling himself together with visible effort.
"You don't know what I need," he hissed, pulling his hands out of Swabbie's grasp. "You dickhead, what I need is - what I need is impossible. And seeing you now is only going to make it a million times harder to play the way I have to play this weekend."
The air left Swabbie's lungs. It's as if his body understood the words before his mind did.
"You - you didn't know?" Scrubbie said uncertainly. "You didn't - you don't even know which squad I'm on?"
Swabbie shook his head in confusion. "No, it – I – you're not -"
Scrubbie reared backwards, anger clouding his features. "The Plugholes vs Sausage Syndicate, Wasteland Arena, timeslot 150 - does that ring a bell anywhere in that thick head of yours? Huh?"
Swabbie felt dizzy. "You're one of The Plugholes? We're playing against each other?!"
"It was bound to happen eventually!" Scrubbie yelled. "It could have happened weeks ago! I wish it did, then maybe I wouldn't care, maybe I wouldn't have fallen -" he broke off into a frustrated growl.
The thought of Scrubbie actually playing in one of those shitty Dishie cars was suddenly horrifying now that Swabbie knew he would be up against his team. What if something happened to him? What if Swabbie hurt him?
Scrubbie seemed to be able to read all the thoughts on his face, clear as day.
"You've never even thought about it, have you? That we're real people? That Bunningsphere isn't all sunshine and roses for everyone like it is for you and your Chef buddies?" His words faltered and fell to a whisper. "I have a thousand scars to show from this life that we lead and that's – that's why this can never work."
Swabbie couldn't speak. He could only watch as the man he loved walked away. That weekend, he could only watch as the man he loved was killed in a goal explosion.
As sadness raged inside him, he decided he would do more than watch. He would change Bunningsphere forever.
And he did.