Mr. Jaguar by K.A. Merikan

pushed him down, and when he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Mike, scowling underneath a big red splatter on his helmet.
    “Fuck,” Mike groaned, falling to his knees.
    Members of the other team were already rushing to squash what was left of Team Yellow.
    James scrambled to his feet, fueled by rage that threatened to explode and burst a hole in his chest. He sent a series of bullets straight at the approaching group, which was enough to stop their progress, but his blood ran cold when the gun made a blunt sound, and James realized he was out of ammo.
    “Fucking fuck.”
    “Duck! To the ground!” Mike yelled at him as he himself fell.
    “Shut up, man! You’re dead!” screamed one of the enemies from behind a tree.
    James pressed his lips shut and ducked for a triangular shape on the ground. He picked up the stone and in one sharp movement pulled it across his neck in the gesture of throat slitting. He then dropped to his knees and fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, gurgling like his own blood was choking him. If one didn’t count the stones and other shit under his back, this was way more fun than shooting and trying not to get shot. He reached out to Mike’s helmet and gathered some paint, only to smear it all over his own armor. There. He was so done.
    He rolled his head to the side and met Mike’s wide open eyes. “Why would you kill yourself?” Mike gasped and pulled up his red-stained goggles.
    James stared at him, ignoring Team Red’s soldiers who ran past them in pursuit of remaining members of the yellow team. He swallowed. “Can’t live without my boyfriend?”
    Mike stalled, but only for a second. “Pretty dramatic I suppose. Let’s get out of here if we’re done.”
    James got to his feet first. “You’re not hurt, right?” he asked just in case. After all, Mike had given his fake life for him, and James still couldn’t quite get his head around it.
    “Nah.” Mike rubbed his forehead as he got up. “Nothing to hurt inside there, right?” He snorted and knocked on his head.
    James swallowed and picked up his gun. “Thanks for saving me, but aren’t you disappointed? You seemed to be having fun.”
    Mike shrugged and led him along at a steady, slow jog. “I’d rather win, but it was an impulse. Not gonna regret it. What’s done is done.”
    James sighed, following him without question. This day stirred all kinds of emotions in him. Had Mike Miller really changed? As promised, Mike had always been beside him throughout the day, helping him make friends and always ready for little tender gestures. This last move really wasn’t like something the guy James knew from school would do. He didn’t know what to do with the fact that he started feeling oddly at ease whenever they were together. He cleared his throat.
    “Maybe we could wait in that hideout close to the base?”
    “Lead the way then.” Mike walked by him, playing with his plastic gun. The paintball armor only made him look bigger and more impressive, which reminded James of the times when he used to go sit on the bleachers by the school’s football field. He loved watching the players in their huge gear and tight pants, especially Mike, who didn’t need anything to look impressive.
    “Do you still play?”
    “Nah, I only work out.” Mike shrugged, his expression completely unreadable.
    James swallowed hard. “You seemed to love it so much, that’s all…”
    “So what? Was never good enough at it. Always fucking mediocre. Nevermind, really, you said it yourself, we don’t need to act when we’re alone.” Mike rubbed his forehead with a groan and they could already see the little wooden shack in the middle of a flat, grassy field.
    James’s mouth screwed shut, and he stuffed his hands down into his pockets, glancing at the dry ground beneath his feet. Of course Mike still remembered yesterday. Who wouldn’t? The more James thought about what he’d said last night, the more he felt like