Nights In Livik

PART II

As the days turned into weeks, my routine began to revolve around checking for Skorp’s online status. I’d find myself scrutinizing the list of friends I had accumulated over time, questioning why I still clung to the many names that had faded into the background. Why keep fifty friends when only one made the game truly enjoyable? With newfound determination, I began deleting those old acquaintances without hesitation. It was clear: as long as Skorp was there, I wouldn’t need anyone else.

Whenever someone else sent me an invitation, I would decline, holding out for that familiar name to light up my screen. Our gaming sessions became an endless cycle of victories, failures, and shared laughter, day and night. I found myself lost in the rhythm of our gameplay, occasionally forgetting to breathe when his deep, rhythmic voice echoed through my headset. It was captivating, and I often found myself focusing intently on his words, cherishing every moment of his company.

Our conversations rarely drifted beyond the confines of the game. It was all about strategies, weapon choices, and navigating the intricate terrains of Livik. There was a comfort in our silence, perhaps because Skorp preferred to keep his life private, or maybe that was just who he was. I didn’t push him to share more; I was content just being in the moment.

Months later, everything shifted when Skorp invited one of his friends to join us. I felt a mix of curiosity and apprehension as I waited for the new player to enter our game. Just before his friend joined, Skorp asked me to turn off my mic. The request puzzled me; I had no idea why he wanted me muted whenever one of his buddies was around. Still, I complied, unsure of what to expect but willing to follow his lead.

As I sat there in silence, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was changing in our dynamic, and I found myself wondering what Skorp was thinking behind that deep voice of his.