#yappingnoissses

The reality of being in a secret relationship was that Infume was constantly operating under the assumption that they were about to be caught.

They had been dating for four months. Four months of quiet, late-night voice calls that stretched into dawn, of unspoken understandings, and a terrifyingly mutual realization that they were actually, unequivocally into each other. They were both awkward and afraid of somehow ruining the fragile thing they had built, so they hadn't told a single person. Infume had half-expected their friends to just know the moment they arrived at the HBG Airbnb, but reality was proving to be a stark contrast to his internal panic.

Apparently, what Infume considered to be clear, flagrant displays of romantic affection were, to the rest of the world, just standard behavior for two guys who were friends.

Take their first meeting at the house yesterday: Infume had stepped forward and firmly patted Hax on the back. It had felt monumental—his palm against the soft fabric of Hax’s sweatshirt, the brief, grounding warmth of physical contact after months of separation. Infume’s heart was thumping so hard that he thought everyone could hear it, but Fulham had just yelled something about the wifi password not working, completely unbothered.

Then there was lunch earlier today. They had been crowded around a long table at a diner, and Hax had reached over, entirely unprompted, and stolen a french fry directly off Infume’s plate. Infume had frozen, his cheeks burning, while Doogile gave Hax a weird, slightly furrowed look from across the table. Infume had panicked—this is it, Doog knows—only for Doogile to mutter "dude," before returning to Geometry Dash on his phone.

Even the fistbump they had shared right before Infume sat down for his practice games felt like a confession. Their knuckles had brushed, lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Infume had been hyperaware of the subtle friction, convinced that the sheer intensity of the gesture would give them away. Silverr looked at their hands—at their hands, directly at where they had touched! Instead of any teasing comments though, Silverr had simply offered a casual "good luck," before strolling off to find Doogile.

They were being really obvious. They had to be. That was exactly why Infume was currently paralyzed with a weird mix of disbelief and comfort as he stared at the ceiling of their shared bedroom.

The door was securely locked. They had told the rest of the house that they were heading upstairs to vod review their recent games. It was their second day together in person, and they had quickly discovered during the first day that they were… kind of clingy actually, but only when no one was looking.

Right now, Hax was entirely pressed against his side on one of the twin beds. Infume, sitting back against the headboard, had his legs stretched out, while Hax had tucked himself into the space right beneath Infume's shoulder. Hax had murmured something about Infume being a "perfectly optimized armrest" earlier, and he had his face half-buried in the cotton of Infume's oversized hoodie, one hand loosely grasping the fabric near Infume's ribs.

Originally, Infume’s phone had been open to a video of a Ranked match, but his phone was currently lying face-down on the mattress, completely forgotten.

"Hax, we're supposed to be reviewing," Infume murmured, his voice a soft, vibrating rumble in the quiet room. He made no actual effort to move, his arm remaining securely draped over Hax's shoulders.

"But we are reviewing," Hax protested, his voice muffled by the hoodie. He let out a lazy, giggly snort, shifting closer until his shoulder lightly pressed against Infume's chest. "Just not vod reviewing. We're reviewing... we're reviewing your posture. Which is awful, by the way. Look at you. You're shaped kinda like a shrimp or whatever."

"You—my posture is only bad because a certain someone is actively using me as a pillow," Infume countered, a smile tugging at his lips as he nudged Hax with his elbow.

"Sure, but still," Hax laughed, his dark eyes crinkling as he looked up. "Your posture is usually bad regardless of whether I'm here. I'm actually providing structural support if you think about it. You should be thanking me."

Infume let out a breathless, quiet giggle, his fingers absentmindedly twisting a loose thread on Hax’s sleeve. "Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"It does help me sleep, actually! You're very warm. Like a giant radiator, or something." Hax bickered right back, but his grip on Infume's hoodie tightened slightly, a comfortable, sleepy quiet settling over them. It baffled Infume that their friends downstairs genuinely thought they were up here analyzing seeds. They were practically broadcasting that there was something up, yet downstairs, the house somehow remained oblivious.

Down in the kitchen, the reality of their "locked in practice" was being discussed over a glaringly green can of soda.

Feinberg cracked open a fresh Mountain Dew, the sharp hiss of carbonation cutting through the hum of the refrigerator. He took a long sip, leaning back against the counter as he glanced toward the stairs. "Honestly, it’s kind of impressive how locked in those two are. They’ve been up there for over an hour just grinding through vods."

Couriway looked up with a sigh, gesturing pointedly at the soda can. "The only green thing I've seen you touch in these past couple of days is your Mountain Dew, which is a problem."

"It has caffeine, so it’s fuel, and it tastes good," Feinberg dismissed easily.

"It looks like uranium," Couri retorted, shaking his head. He looked toward the stairs as well, a fond smile touching his face. "But yeah, it’s cool to see them hanging out in person. They’re really good friends online, and you can tell they just synergize well. They’re probably having a blast finally breaking down strategies face-to-face."

"Yeah. As long as their practice pays off tomorrow," Feinberg muttered. He eyed the bowl of fresh bell pepper slices that Couriway had just pushed toward him across the counter, his expression immediately twisting into one of disgust. "Ew. Get that away from me."

"Eat a vegetable, Feinberg."

"Hax," Infume choked out, his voice a tight, frantic whisper as he urgently tapped Hax on the shoulder. "Hax, look at this. I think—dude, I think HBG might be homophobic."

Hax, who had just finished neatly zipping his keyboard case, stopped and looked up. "What? Why would you think that?"

"Look at the group chat!" Infume hissed, shoving his phone into Hax’s face. "Danny and Fein are literally trying to set me up on a matchmaking tournament. They're acting like I'm single. After everything we've done this weekend? It doesn't make sense unless they’re purposely ignoring you. Like—like they're trying to suppress it or something."

Hax took the phone, his brow furrowing as he read through the messages. For a long, tense moment, he stared at the screen, analyzing the data as if he was vod reviewing. Finally, he looked back up at Infume, shaking his head with a baffled expression.

"No, wait, that actually makes no sense," Hax reasoned, his voice dropping into a hushed, intense yap. "Because if they’re homophobic, then what the fuck is going on with Soog?"

Infume blinked. "Soog?"

"Silverr and Doogile!" Hax explained rapidly, leaning in close and waving a hand for emphasis. "They’ve been pining for literally months, Infume. They keep doing that thing where they flirt as a 'joke', but every single time I watch Doog’s stream and he mentions Silverr, it’s really, really gay. Like, undeniably gay. There is no heterosexual explanation for the tone of voice he uses, or the heart-shaped brookie or whatever."

Infume stared at him, his mouth slightly open. He had been completely unaware of this. "Wait. Silverr and Doogile are...?"

"Yes! Exactly!" Hax whispered fiercely. "So HBG can't be homophobic, because if they were, then Soog makes no sense. Which means..." Hax paused, something passing over his expression. "...there's a really, really odd conspiracy happening right now."

"They're ignoring all of us," Infume whispered, a cold sweat breaking out on his neck as he looked across the tournament venue. He recalled the lingering friction of their fistbump from yesterday. It had been so intense. How could anyone look at that and see platonic friends? "It’s a collective denial. They know we're together, Hax. They have to know. We practically broadcasted it at lunch. They're just playing some kind of twisted mental game with us."