“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this,” Ethan says, clicking on another video. “It’s basically required viewing for?—”
“I need to pee,” I announce, the wine making everything feel urgent and immediate.
“Bathroom’s down the hall,” he says, pausing the video. “Don’t get lost. Freddie might be passed out in the hallway.”
I carefully extract myself from his warmth, trying not to wobble as I stand. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, send a search party.”
“I’ll send Greg,” he promises solemnly.
The hallway is thankfully Freddie-free, and I manage the bathroom without incident. But on the way back, I pause in his doorway. He’s leaning over to grab more popcorn from the floor, and I notice his desk for the first time—really notice it.
Sketches everywhere. Beautiful, detailed drawings of characters I recognize even through my wine haze. An archmage with flowing robes and a stern expression. An apprentice clutching a staff, hope and determination in every line.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
The sketches are for Fault Line. The game I’ve been beta testing. The game I spent six hours playing and then wrote a scathing review of.
GuildMaster42. GM42. Of course, it’s Ethan. Who else would create a game about mentorship and loss and trying to live up to impossible expectations? Who else would name themselves after the answer to life, the universe, and everything?
I’m ButterBoi69 and he’s GM42 and we’ve been messaging about his game for days and oh god, I told him his ending was like being emotionally carpet-bombed.
A giggle escapes before I can stop it. Then another. This is insane. We’re pen pals who don’t know we’re pen pals. I’ve been helping him fix the game I criticized while he helps me with my narrative assignments.
“You okay in there?” Ethan calls.
“Fine!” I squeak, trying to compose myself.
This is not drunk Piper’s problem to solve. This is very much a sober Piper situation. Future Piper, with her full cognitive abilities and decision-making skills intact, can figure out how to tell him that I accidentally destroyed his game before we even properly met.
Right now, drunk Piper needs to go back in there and pretend she didn’t just have a revelation that changes everything.
I slip back into his room, slide onto the bed beside him like nothing has happened.
“You were gone for like thirty seconds,” he observes. “That’s not enough time to get lost.”
“I'm very efficient,” I say, curling back into his side. My voice sounds mostly normal. Good job, drunk Piper.
“You sure you're okay? You look... giggly.”
“Wine makes me giggly,” I say, which isn't a lie. “What were we watching?”
He eyes me suspiciously but starts the video again. I try to focus on the screen, but my mind is racing, connecting dots that make my stomach churn.
GuildMaster42. GM42. Of course—42, the answer to life, the universe, and everything.
Such an Ethan reference.
How did I miss this?
I'd been so sure it was Zarah's. She's the one with the 4.0 GPA, the one who leads the Women in Gaming club, the one whose code is always pristine. The game was too polished, too sophisticated,too goodto be anyone else's.
But it's Ethan's.
The guy who’s told me about his dad watching his grades, who confessed if he doesn’t get his grades up this year, his dad will make him work in a hardware store. Who shared with me his fears about failing this year.
My harsh review. My 2 out of 5 stars.
