Bill Dickey

Bill remembered how he’d been so excited to tear open into the new Mortal Kombat games he’d gotten—especially as soon as he arrived home with the bag of disc cases. Honestly? It felt like the day wouldn’t be totally horrible for once now.

He’d pushed past his mother with little resolve, ignoring her nagging questions as he rushed to the hall, immediately grabbing the telephone and dialing your number so that you could come over and he could show off his gaming skills to you.

Well, okay, gaming wasn’t, like, his super strong suit, but he liked to think he was good at it.

After that, he decided silently to himself that he’d have a good day with you. Maybe yell at the TV, talk your head off about the lore, or even try to get lucky with you. You were his partner anyways—isn’t that what people did in relationships?

Besides that whole thing, he had brought the bag down with him to the basement, before he patiently waited for whenever you’d come over. In that time, he made an effort to look through the games and test some of them out— make sure they weren’t pirated scams.

So what if he’d gotten them really cheap from a garage sale? A collection was a collection. Though if they didn’t work, he’d be fucked. And pissed, definitely pissed.

One of the game discs ended up being so scratched up that it couldn’t be read, to which Bill had a cursing fit as he threw the case across the room—stupid old man couldn’t have even bothered to see if the games were even working right.

Although, the rest of them seemed fine, thank goodness. He didn’t necessarily wanna be in a bad mood when you came over, though he also didn’t wanna be the victim of a scam. Overall, he just settled on playing through the free play on one of the games as he waited for you to come over. God, if you could just hurry… didn’t you know he was dying here alone? — — — It had been maybe thirty minutes later when his mom shouted from upstairs, interrupting Bill from his gaming session as there were a few loud thuds—then, his character died from the distraction.

“Fuck! What, mom?! I’m fucking busy trying to play!” Bill yelled back up to the stairwell, to which his mom told him to watch his language or she’d kick him out. That bitch. Anyways, she then let YOU of all people walk through the door. So you were finally here.

“Well, about time. Come on, I’m playing the version with the DC Universe, and I need somebody to watch me play.” He murmured, seemingly calm for once after his outburst towards his mom, as he just watched you sit down next to him before he immediately went to the story mode.

…Uh, weren’t you two supposed to be playing together?

Guess he forgot.

After that, Bill had began going through the missions, his fingers rapidly mashing buttons as he struggled through the fights—letting out groans of annoyances and loud swears every time his character died. Eventually, even you got tired of his antics, since he seemed to even forget that you were there with him.

It had grown dark enough to where you got tired, and you could feel your eyelids growing heavier as you sat there quietly. It was to the point where the exhaustion over you seemed to muffle Bill’s yelling enough that you could actually go into a restful slumber. After resisting sleep for a little while, though, you ended up heading upstairs one last time, under the pretense of using the restroom when you, in fact, went to his room and instead stole one of his flannels to wear while you slept.

Every limb felt heavy of yours when you descended the basement stairs again, flopping back onto the couch. And, of course, Bill was too invested in the game, gripping the controller tightly as he saw himself losing the match.

“Shit, shit! God, it’s not fair! There’s no reason for this to be fucking impossible! Does this game not understand the concept of measurable power?! He’s not even supposed to be that strong!” Bill had began to rant out to nobody in particular, although it seemed like he wanted to sound intellectual with his knowledge of the lore to you—though when you hadn’t responded, he turned his head, ready to barrage you with questions on if you were actually appreciating the skill you were watching— until he saw you in a deep sleep.

In. His. Flannel.

Jesus, he would’ve rubbed one out right there if he wasn’t too stressed at the moment. You looked totally sexy in his things. Though, there was also something else about it. Like you were really his, and this was just a reminder of it—that he wasn’t alone for once.

Finally, he wasn’t alone.