From the kitchen came a delicious aroma, the clatter of pots, and Cam's humming, as if he were hosting his own cooking show.
Mitchell appeared from the hallway, hands in his pockets and a grimace on his face.
"Lily kicked me out of her room. She's building a block empire and apparently I'm not needed in her kingdom. I'll be back in five minutes, before she tries something dangerous."
Cam, back turned as he stirred the pot, smiled, "Give her a little freedom, Mitchell. Don't be that helicopter parent."
Mitchell raised his eyebrows.
"She's three, Cam! In five minutes she'll forget about the blocks and start climbing the dresser. Do you want a repeat of the story? Remember when Andrew was five and fell out of that tree? We almost went down in history as the first gay couple to accidentally kill the kid we had just adopted… in record time."
Cam turned slightly, wooden spoon in hand, dramatizing the memory with a theatrical gesture, "Oh, please, don't be so dramatic! We didn't kill him, we made him stronger."
Mitchell stared at him, mouth half open in disbelief, "I remember the day at the hospital, you were about to faint…" he muttered to himself, not in the mood to argue.
He changed the subject while pouring himself a glass of water, "By the way… why did you invite Willa to dinner?"
Cam turned, offended, "Do I need a reason to be hospitable? She's Andrew's friend, she's helping him with… well, that whole crazy fake-heart-attack thing for Halloween. That earns her a plate at this table!"
Mitchell murmured with his usual half-hidden irony, "Right, nothing more normal than helping your friend perfect a psychopathic prank."
Cam frowned, studying him in silence, then pointed at him with the spoon, "Wait a minute. Do you have something against Willa?"
"No!" Mitchell answered way too quickly, swallowing hard, "I don't have anything against her. It's just…" he paused, searching for words, "I notice something different. A weird vibe. Between Andrew and her."
"And you're just now realizing? Of course there's something! They're not just friends sharing geeky hobbies, Mitchell. There are looks, there's tension. It's obvious," Cam said, raising his eyebrows, as if he'd been waiting years for that comment.
Mitchell put a hand to his forehead, shaking his head, "Seriously, Cam? It hasn't even been a month since he broke up with Pippa, his first serious girlfriend. And now you're already… pairing him with Willa."
"I'm not pairing them, I'm observing," Cam shot back, "I have a clinical eye for these things!"
"Clinical eye…" Mitchell repeated in disbelief.
"Cam, she's an actress, a model, she's in Hollywood. Is that the environment you want for Andrew right now? When he's already under pressure with school, football, YouTube, the press… seriously?"
Cam sighed, "I'm not going to force anyone or push anything. Andrew and Willa will decide what they want to be… if anything even happens. Maybe nothing ever will."
Mitchell crossed his arms, waiting for the trap hidden in those words.
"Look," Cam continued, sincerity in his voice, "I like to fantasize about love stories, I admit it. But I don't want to manipulate anything. All I did was invite Willa to dinner because she's helping him, giving her time. If they choose to stay friends, great. If one day they decide to be something more, also great."
Mitchell exhaled sharply through his nose, unconvinced, "Uh-huh… so you're telling me that if right now, at this very moment, something happened in that room, you'd consider it…?"
"A little assist," Cam replied with a smile he couldn't hide.
Mitchell rolled his eyes and shook his head, "Incredible. Now it's like you're the coach in the shadows."
"Oh, please, Mitchell. Willa's a good friend. She's smart, funny, beautiful, and she shares that geeky superhero and comic book world Andrew loves so much. Have you ever seen another girl who knows as much about superheroes as our son? Not even Pippa."
Mitchell stayed quiet, because deep down he knew Cam had a point.
While Mitchell and Cam kept arguing, the atmosphere in Andrew's room was completely different.
Willa and Andrew were sitting side by side, each with a controller in hand, eyes locked on the screen.
The glow of the TV lit up their focused faces as they battled it out in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2.
The first rounds were fast: bursts of gunfire, explosions, and shouts of victory or frustration.
"Boom!" Andrew exclaimed after a clean headshot.
"Luck…" Willa muttered without looking away, then killed him with a perfectly placed grenade. "And just like that, your luck runs out!"
Andrew clicked his tongue and leaned forward, closer to the TV.
They laughed, cursed at the screen, and dove into the next match. Minutes passed and the tension built as if they were playing the most important game of their lives.
Even so, Andrew couldn't win. The scoreboard ended in Willa's favor: two rounds to zero, leaving him no chance at redemption.
Andrew froze, staring at the screen with a frown. He muttered almost to himself, "How…?"
It was strange. Willa had always been good, sure, but their matches were usually even, neck and neck. For her to beat him twice in a row, and by that margin, wasn't something he'd calculated.
"Your face is priceless," Willa said, resting the controller on her lap with a wide grin.
"I'm sure more than a few of those guys you've humiliated on the field would give anything to see you looking like that right now."
Andrew turned his head slightly, looking at her with a mix of disbelief and resignation.
"How did you get so much better?" he asked, frustration in his voice.
Willa raised an eyebrow, playing innocent, "Mm, what do you mean?"
"Your level was the same as mine. We were always tied," Andrew pressed, pointing at the results screen still up.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I play the same as always," Willa shrugged with that air of smugness that drove Andrew crazy.
"Maybe you just got worse, with all that football training… at this rate even Howard's gonna beat you."
Andrew frowned, clearly provoked. Howard was, by far, the worst in the group at Call of Duty.
"Or maybe you have so much free time you used it to get better, Miss Unemployed," Andrew shot back.
The comment earned him a murderous glare from Willa. It was a low blow, but not entirely untrue.
Willa had filmed her last movie many months ago. Aside from the occasional modeling gig, she didn't have any major commitments on her schedule. She was living comfortably enough, she'd earned over a hundred grand from that role, so she wasn't out hunting for work like crazy. That left her with way too much free time.
Time she had, of course, spent on long nights playing video games, and deep down, though she'd never admit it out loud, on getting better than Andrew at COD.
"Please…" Willa said, shaking her head as if the very idea were absurd, "I didn't know you were such a sore loser."
Andrew huffed, tossed the controller aside in frustration, and went to sit on his bed, picking up his phone. His fixed gaze on the screen was his silent way of admitting defeat.
Even if Willa admitted she'd played a ton of COD, more than him, with his strict schedule, it didn't matter. She had beaten him, period.
Willa watched him for a few seconds from the chair, a half-smile of satisfaction on her lips. Then, leaning forward, she poked him with a final jab.
"If you want, I can play a few rounds on your account and level you up. I'm a generous person."
A vein began to show on Andrew's forehead. He felt like hurling the pillow at her with all his strength, but he held back.
"Ha, ha… enjoy your victory for now. Soon I'll beat you again like before," Andrew said, not taking his eyes off his phone.
While Andrew stayed absorbed in his phone, thumbs moving quickly, Willa settled back into the chair and started an online match. She didn't speak to him, only glanced at him sideways from time to time.
Andrew's frustration at losing to her slowly began to fade, replaced by concentration on what was happening on his phone screen. Even a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
He was talking to Rachel Greene.
In this reality, she was his age and didn't belong to another generation. Andrew had already gotten used to those anomalies: first with Leonard and Howard, who had ended up being his best friends, and of course, with his current family.
He and Rachel had met the previous summer when she joined Monica at Subscriber Meetup #2. Later, they had gone to see him at Dana Hills, and since Rachel hit it off with Haley, they planned a beach day and invited him.
Since then, they had become Facebook friends, though nothing else happened, since she lived in New York. It wasn't like Andrew could just hang out with Monica, Rachel, or Ross.
Rachel had messaged him on Facebook after the famous post-game interview from "the beating" that had gone everywhere, even in the most important newspaper in New York: The New York Times.
She had wished him luck, they had a short, quick chat. Then, after that historic Friday when he fulfilled his word with 7 touchdowns, she messaged him again. Since then, they had kept up a steady flow of messages.
Right now, the conversation carried the same easy tone it had the last few days:
[Rachel: I can't believe they're broadcasting tomorrow's game nationally too. Good luck! I swear, if ESPN keeps airing your games every Friday, Monica's going to make it a national holiday.]
[Andrew: Hahaha, I can totally picture that. I guess if the games keep getting such good ratings, they'll keep doing it. So you know what that means, you have to watch, so the ratings don't drop.]
[Rachel: Of course I'll watch, I wouldn't miss it. Besides, Monica will force me to watch anyway… The only bad thing is she screams way too loud during the touchdowns.]
Andrew smiled faintly, and just as he was about to reply, another message popped up:
[Rachel: Oh, right. If they interview you live again after the game, can you give Monica a shoutout? She won't see it coming, and it'd be hilarious to watch her reaction. She might even have a heart attack or something 😂]
Andrew let out a low laugh, raising an eyebrow. It was ironic that Rachel would joke about a heart attack of all things, especially during the very days he was practicing faking one.
He knew Monica: intense, a fiercely loyal fan of his channel, and capable of overflowing with emotion at something like that. Maybe not to the point of an actual collapse, but he got the joke.
[Andrew: Deal. But on one condition, you have to secretly record her reaction and send it to me. You can't have all the fun yourself.]
Rachel replied within seconds:
[Rachel: Deal. Thanksss. I'll record it and send it to you. It's going to be so much fun.]
Andrew leaned back further against the headboard of his bed, still with a faint smile on his face, as the little dots, Rachel is typing…, flashed on the screen again.
[Rachel: And hey… joke aside, I really do hope you win tomorrow. If the shoutout for Monica doesn't happen, that's fine. What matters most is that you enjoy the game and crush them like you did Bosco.]
Andrew read it silently for a few seconds. The tone was different, more sincere, almost as if Rachel feared her little shoutout idea might distract him.
Before he could type a response, a voice suddenly broke him out of his bubble:
"And what's with that goofy face?" Willa said. "A minute ago you looked like you wanted to destroy the world."
Andrew gave a start, lifting his gaze. Willa was now sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him. Her blue eyes shifted from his face to the phone in his hands, curiosity barely hidden.
Behind her, the TV screen still displayed a big "VICTORY."
Andrew calmly put away his phone and said with total nonchalance, "Memes. I was looking at memes."
Willa narrowed her eyes, as if not entirely convinced, but didn't push. She just smirked, "Instead of looking at memes, maybe you should watch a COD tutorial so you can at least win one round next time," she teased.
Andrew pressed his lips together. He knew Willa was going to gloat about that victory until he had his revenge. It was normal, he did the same thing with Leonard or Howard whenever he beat them. Teasing was part of the code between friends.
"You," Andrew countered with a mocking smile, "instead of playing so many video games, should be going to auditions and landing a job, don't you think?"
Willa's smile vanished instantly, "That's the third time you've called me unemployed, directly or indirectly," she said, moving closer on the bed, "I let it slide before."
Andrew didn't back down. He crossed his arms, half-smiling in defiance, "And what are you gonna do? Intimidate me with that look, like you do with everyone else?"
Willa didn't reply with words. She grabbed a pillow and smacked him on the shoulder. Andrew blinked in disbelief, until another strike hit him square in the face.
"Oh, I get it now! You've chosen the path of violence," Andrew said, grabbing another pillow.
In seconds, the room turned into a battlefield. Pillow strikes flew back and forth, echoing with both of their laughter.
Andrew, of course, held back his strength. A real blow could knock her flat, so he limited himself to patient defense.
Willa, on the other hand, attacked relentlessly, as if each strike were payback for every time Andrew had called her "unemployed."
The scuffle spiraled out of control. In one swift move, Andrew caught her wrist to stop her, but stubborn as ever, she tried to wriggle free with her other hand. He reacted instinctively, catching that one too.
The struggle sent them rolling across the mattress until, before they realized it, Andrew was on top of her.
"Let me go! Cheater, that's not fair!" Willa said, breathless, laughing, still struggling. Her eyes locked on Andrew's.
"Why isn't it fair?" Andrew replied with calm provocation. For him, this battle was nothing, his fitness level was light years away from tiring out over a pillow fight.
"Because it was supposed to be just a pillow fight, no grappling," Willa protested, still wriggling, though it was useless. Her persistence only made the mattress creak beneath them, boxing them in closer than intended.
Their laughter slowly faded, replaced by an unexpected silence.
Andrew noticed it first, the closeness, the warmth of her breath brushing his face. Willa's chest rose and fell quickly, and for a moment he caught himself focusing too much on that, on how near her face was to his.
'What's happening?' Andrew thought, though he didn't move.
Willa realized it too, the scene had shifted. Andrew held her pinned, but he was applying barely any pressure, just enough to keep her there. Her eyes, unwillingly, flicked to his arms, the subtle tension in them, the ease with which he held her down, and the calm in his expression.
The silence stretched, strange, until Cam's voice rang out: "Dinner's ready!"
Andrew blinked, as if waking up. He immediately let go and rolled to the side, still with a strange look on his face.
"Pillow fight's over…" he muttered, as if downplaying it.
"Yeah…" Willa said quickly, sitting up. Without warning, she grabbed the pillow and smacked Andrew one last time square in the face.
"Hey!" Andrew protested, just before she tossed the pillow aside and bolted for the door.
"I win!" Willa sang as she made her escape.
"How do you call that a win?" Andrew huffed, half in disbelief, half amused, as he chased after her.
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