Procrastinators on Stage (Chris Kendall/crabstickz fanfic) *unedited*

Part 14- I Don't Like Being Talked Down To

“Now you should duck down behind that crate there…No, not that one! The one with the green tarp over it!”

“Shut up, I’m trying!”

“And still you keep dying…Shoot that guy!”                         

“Which guy?”

“The enemy guy!”

“Be more specific!”

“Why do I even bother? Fucking hell.”

The enemy that Chris was talking about on his copy of Call of Duty Modern Warfare 4 dropped down dead before me in a crowing yell. I barely had chance to gloat about the single death to Chris before I was ambushed by a multitude of other rivals. I swore angrily and slammed my thumbs over buttons, forced down on triggers and moved my avatar around to hide again.

Chris stole the controller from me, his fingers flying efficiently over the controls with an inhuman speed whilst his eyes darted across the screen. He was quite good at this, I will admit. I glanced away from the screen, which was now free of enemies, back to Chris. He was smirking gleefully as he handed the controlled back to me in a motion filled with satisfaction.

“It’s not nice to gloat,” I said as I snatched back my controller. “And besides, I thought I was meant to be learning?”

“What part of dying for the tenth time is a learning experience, exactly?” Chris quipped with a raise of his eyebrows. I wrinkled my nose at him before turning back to the game at the paused menu screen.

Chris and I had both fallen asleep practically as soon as we’d gone into our separate rooms last night, meaning that we were up in the very early hours of the morning at stupid o’clock. So, when I’d gone to make myself a hot chocolate to drink whilst I read through my monologues at that early hour, I had in fact found Chris playing COD in the living room. He had been sat on a billowing beanbag before the game console in a ratty green t-shirt with a cracked and peeling transfer image of a Mario mushroom on the front and tracksuit bottoms. He too had had a hot chocolate mug on the floor next to him, but his Adventure Time mug had been half empty.

I’d sat down on the sofa behind him, announcing myself with a whispered “morning”, to which he responded with his own morning greeting, followed by asking why I was up at 4am. With a sip of my drink, I’d told him how I’d already slept for nine hours and didn’t see the point of sleeping for much longer when I couldn’t.

“Oh,” he’d replied, actually pausing the game to look over his shoulder at me. “When do you have to be at the theatre?”

“Nine.”

“Do you want to play some video games in the meantime, then? Five hours is a long time.”

“I’ve never really played video games,” I admitted grudgingly.

“Then I’ll talk you through it. It’s all quite simple really,” Chris offered. He unwound his legs and moved to reach behind the TV unit for a second Xbox 360 controller, then snapping two batteries into it from the small box filled with batteries that was next to his beanbag. “I think you’ll like Octodad.”

From Octodad and two hours’ worth of laughter, Chris weaned me onto COD. When I played COD, I was as poorly coordinated as Octodad himself, but Chris still helped me like some sort of gaming guru.

“If we’re going to be in each other’s company this much, and if I have this many games, then it would be stupid if you didn’t play some form of video game,” Chris told me when I asked why he was tutoring me.

“I thought you didn’t like me?” I dared to ask him as my avatar listened to its commanders through its comms unit.

Chris sighed as he watched the written dialogue onscreen. “Alright, I didn’t like you that much to begin with, because I’m used to living alone and only had to look for a flatmate because money’s not so great right now. I mean, I’d rather have a flatmate than ask my parents or friends for financial help.”