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Within arm's reach

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It all went down really fucking quick.


Suddenly it wasn't morning anymore, and they weren't drinking coffee and chating with Alfonso. Oskar wasn't bringing cup after cup of tea and coffee; Martin wasn't checking the stats and replays, Gabriel wasn't buggering Pete, Zdravets wasn't competing with Tim about some twitter stuff. Suddenly (too soon, always too soon) they were in the verge of panic, and the loss was imminent.

It was 3-0, even worse than fucking Mad Lions.


And it hurt.


A lot.

Martin thinks how by this time he should somewhat be used to the painful feel of loss. It shouldn't be this hard to think about it. Like, it just happened to him over and over and over again, right?

He sighs profusely, keeping his tears at bay. And awful attempt. He wished he could be angry like Oskar, nonchalant like Gabriel, or even fucking chill like Tim. But he can't, he's always been called a diva and a crybaby and now it just makes him hurt a whole lot.

They were so close.

It's still so humiliating to him, having lost 3-0.

At the same time, it wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't fucking G2.


But fuck his life, of course it was.



It felt kinda refreshing, swearing. Even if mentally.




The game ends and the room stays in silence. Pete looks more nervous that a chihuahua and Martin wishes he could say something, anything to comfort him and everyone, but he's scared. He already fucked up, didn't he?

"Well, guys... Let's grap it here. We did our best—

Alfonso's words seem so empty. He doesn't say it, though. His eyes go around the room even if he doesn't want to see anything but his bed.

—ans we'll get better and win next year. Promise"

Tim is the first to stand up. Martin sees Oskar physically retreat his hand from the midlaner, and has a small spark of envy. But how could he feel jealous from their friendship? The jungler probably knew how to dealt with it better, and would be more helpful, useful than Martin.

He focuses on the black screen in front of him, containing his tears again being such a baby again.

When he stands up there's no one but Pete; who still's looking like speaking would break the adc. Martin manages a weak smile as he goes to the living room.

He'll already got throught this, more than once. He could and would do it again.



He needed to be alone to cry in peace so much.




A weapon has no feelings.

His mantra felt stupid when he knew he was such a useless weapon.

They had lost again. It was the second year he was the fnatic midlaner and he wasn't enough to beat Perkz who just had came back to mid.

Crying was also useless, but Tim just couldn't control his revellious tears anymore. He basically sprinted to his room and closed the door before slipping in his bed. He made no sound but the crying didn't stop for a long while.



Somehow Alfonso had gotten beer and now they were drinking in a horrible silence. Bwipo was fidgeting with his can, and Zdravets had started to zone out for at least half an hour now. Martin felt awfully uncomfortable, but he knew this was important for his coach as they all did, so all but Tim stayed. The adc knew tomorrow they all would open again their phones, on their computers and face the hate, even the scrutiny of their own coach as they would need to watch over and over again what they did wrong, how did they lost. This was only a small relief.

And Martin wanted to hold it as long as he could.

At some point Oskar and Hylli had turned on the TV and now they were watching some mindlessly romcom to fill in the silence. Bwipo had calmed down enough to remember how to talk and was starting to chat with the jungler, who looking by his moods was using it as a way to chill. Zdravets had given up on his five beers and was now resting peacefully in the adc's lap. Alfonso was the only one with his phone on, probably watching the LCS playoffs.

The think hurt Martin. Everybody knew Cloud 9 would, will win.

[As they all though Fnatic would]

He patted his support's hair softly. He wanted to win, as they all did, but—

No, he needed to calm now. He breathed deeply and stared at the show, the characters were sucking face and Oskar was talking about relationships or so, with Bwipo telling him how much he missed his girlfriend.

"You LIVE with her bro! What the heck you have a girlfriend!! Leave the grief to forever alone like ME!"

That got a chuckle from him.


He holds the ring in his neck, remembering when he and Tim were talking about books and their future. It seemed so surreal at the time, that they liked each other enough to try whatever their relationship was.

Martin called him his boyfriend in his mind, but they hadn't told anybody and it felt—

He sighed again.

Why all the problems liked to appear at the same time?


Oh no.

Alfonso's scream could be listened to the fucking moon, given their luck. Which, of course, woke up Zdravets and even probably Tim.

To Alfonso's credit he had the decency to look ashamed.

If looks could kill, Oskar would be in his way to jail, Martin reckoned. Bwipo held him as their coach apologised and ran outside.

"The fucking nerve of some people! Of course we want to know about his goddamned boyfriend being better than us! And of course he has a fucking boyfriend EVERYONE has someone I'm just a looner who will die alone!"

Zdravets sighed in his lap, as they both knew sleeping again would be impossible.

In the end Rekkles went to sleep at night, after Hylli and Alfonso, but before Bwipo and Oskar, who were still discussing about yet another thing while not-watching the tv.




When he opened his door, he first thought it that perhaps this is really a bad dream and he's just about to wake up. Because there was someone already in his bed and given that he had seen Hylli enter his room it meant either Tim haf gotten lost in their own house or he had lost all his fucks and was sleeping in Martin's bed by own will.

This wasn't better.

Was he meant to go to his room before? Had Tim given him any signal that he wanted him to?

Had he fucked up yet another thing?

He sighs again worn out by this entire day. He's tired. Of not know what to do, of knowing what he was meant to accomplish and that couldn't do it. It was exhausting having to think in everyone's else expectations and he thought that with Tim it would be different, that he could trust Tim to tell him when he needed—

He wants to punch something so bad. He steps into his room and stands breathing as deeply as he can in an attempt to calm down. He stops at twenty and thinks fuck it before stepping into his bed without even changing. Inside, Tim's sleeping soundly, with a pained expression.

Martin gets closer, enough to feel his boyfriends respiration and he notices the dry tears in the corner of his eyes; Martin thinks about lifting his hand and taking cleaning them. He thinks so hard about hugging Tim that he skips a breath or two.

"Jag älskar dig"

He wants to hold Tim so bad. He takes deep breaths and closes his eyes hard as he tries to sleep. It's useless and he stays that way for the most of the hour but he tries anyway. He's so lost. Tim is in front of him, in his bed, and yet he feels so unreachable. Martin is tired and miserable, the pain of having lost a reminder that they could haven been happy.


Who am I trying to fool?


He opens his eyes and everything is blurry. He's crying, and it shouldn't feel this good but it does. He lefts a shy wimp out before reaching for Tim in an embrace.
Nothing it's ok today, but, but.

Tim loosens and instictvely holds Martin's hip. The adc gaps and buries himself deeper into his midlaner's arms.


Tomorrow he will deal with it. They will. Fnatic will rise.




Rekkles cries until he falls asleep, unaware that he's not the only one awake.