"No."
"You did. You had a match and you didn't play it."
"I played what I wanted to play."
"Malcolm."
He grins, unrepentant. "Maybe I like watching you win."
"That's cheating."
"That's strategy."
"That's patronizing."
"That's affection."
The word hangs in the air.
Finn snorts. "Smooth, Malcolm. Real smooth."
Malcolm shrugs. "I'm not taking it back."
My face is burning. "I don't need you to let me win."
"I know you don't but I'm going to anyway."
"That defeats the purpose of playing."
"The purpose of playing is having fun. Are you having fun?"
I open my mouth. Close it.
"That's what I thought," Malcolm says.
Rhys lays down four cards. Goes out again.
Finn stares at him. "You did it again."
Rhys picks up his milk.
"You went out again… on your second hand."
"Yes."
"How long does it take you to sort?"
Rhys considers this. "Less time than it takes you to argue."
Malcolm makes a sound that's definitely a laugh disguised very poorly as a cough.
"I genuinely don't know how to feel about you," Finn tells Rhys.
Rhys looks at him, dry and patient.
"You'll figure it out," he says.
Finn blinks.
