Note: this chapter contains mild language.

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George tries to brush off the giddy sensation he's experiencing, having shared a kiss with the man he's had his eye on since the start of the games. However, this proves far too difficult. There's a soaring feeling in his heart; a shine in his eyes; and an uncontrollable grin on his face.

"You know, we should go and join the others," he giggles, much like a little child who just got their allowance. "They're probably wondering where we are."

"Good call." Elton stands himself up from off George's bed, so George follows suit. Elton leans in to steal one kiss more from the charming lips he has come to adore, before humming happily under his breath. "Let's go."

The pair leave George's room; with George making sure he has his keycard to access his room again later. The pair walk through the corridors, eventually arriving at the main function room again. Elton opens the door, revealing the bright white walls that have grown to become home.

"Hey!" Andrew shouts, from where he's sitting with the rest of the group. "Long time, no see!"

"We just lost track of time," George explains — although perhaps not the full truth. "But we figured we'd come and see you guys before lights out."

"What did you both get up to?" Madonna interrogates, a large smirk forming on her lips.

"We just ... talked." Elton takes great satisfaction in giving such a vague answer; he enjoys the idea of keeping people in suspense. "Got to know each other. Nothing too exciting."

"Well, it's nice to make new bonds; especially in this type of place," Michael points out.

"This is true." Elton decides to leave the conversation at that point, sitting down with them on the ground. "So, what have we missed?"

"Nothing too crazy. We've just been trying to figure out what the next game could be," Whitney informs the pair. "But so far, nobody's got anything really. Which sucks."

"Just got to take each day as it happens," George advises. "Make the most of the last few days most of us still have."

*

The following morning, Madonna and Lisa are sitting together drinking their morning coffee. The continuous party music has become so repetitive, that nobody in the game even acknowledges that it's playing anymore.

"So ... how's Operation: Win Back Michael going for ya?" Madonna asks her friend, holding her plastic cup in her hands for warmth.

"He doesn't seem to even notice I exist, does he?" Lisa frowns, her attention on her own empty cup. She tosses it from one hand to the other, to give herself something to do. "I've tried flirting; I've tried making nice comments ... I've tried it all. The only thing I haven't tried is literally telling him I still want him."

"Well, maybe that's the next step," Madonna suggests, finishing the remaining drink in her cup. "Maybe you just gotta tell the man before one of you dies."

"But that's the issue — I think he's making the most of his time with somebody else." Her eyes avert behind her, gesturing subtly at Michael, who is sat a few tables away with Whitney. They're sharing laughter and drinking their coffees too. "I think they like each other."

Madonna contorts her face. "They seem too buddy-buddy to be anything more," she evaluates. "And I mean, hey, was I wrong about George being gay?"

"I suppose not." Lisa's eyes roll upwards in contemplation, as she realises Madonna could be correct. "So ... when do you think I should tell him?"

"Hm. That's a tricky one." Madonna sucks air between her teeth, as some sort of audible cue to demonstrate just how difficult the question is. "Maybe if he dies in the next game, you could hold him in your arms and confess. And then he can confess it in return and then die in your arms — ah, how romantic. True love is doomed."

"This isn't a joke Madonna," Lisa hisses, to try and keep her voice lowered. "When do I tell him?"

"Not yet. You need more time to work out how he actually feels about you. You don't wanna jump in with a confession if he's going to reject you for whatever reason."

"No, you're right. I'll wait it out." She fiddles with her cup, before deciding to mess with Michael a little. She takes aim, pointing the cup in his direction. After getting a feel for the distance and the weight of the cup, she throws it as hard as she can; in an attempt to hit him.

"Hey!" Michael exclaims, turning around to face the girls while laughing. "You crazy bitch!" he continues, clearly finding the amusement in her little prank. He throws her cup back at her, hitting her forehead with it. "Take that, Lisa."

She laughs in return, shaking her head in mock disapproval at his retaliation. "Very good aim there, I see."

At his own table, Michael sits back down. "She's an interesting character, my ex."

"She seems fun though," Whitney answers. "I totally get why you dated her."

"Yeah, well ... " His voice trails off, as he doesn't have much else to say on the subject. "Well, today is another day. But there isn't many of us left now — thirty, is it? Over two-thirds of the players have already been killed. It's crazy how none of our team has died yet."

"But you know the further we get as a team, the more of us may die in the same game?" Whitney reasons. "So it'll be tough once there's only a few players left, that's for sure."

"You're right ... " He feels sad at this knowledge, although knowing he can't change it. "It's gonna be hard for George and Andrew, when one of them goes. They're super close, from what I've seen."

"And George has become good friends with Elton, too," Whitney reminds him. "So whoever goes first out of those two ... it's gonna be hard for the survivor."

"I feel like it'll be hard for you and I ... when one of us goes, too," Michael says. "Because I feel like you and I have grown to be close, too."

"I'd say so too." Whitney gives him a genuine, warm smile. "I don't know who I'd have had in here if you weren't here."

"I guess it's just lucky then, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is." She gives an awkward chuckle, not having much else to say to him.

"Good morning Pretty Boy," Prince suddenly greets, startling them both. His face contorts in playful disgust upon seeing Whitney. "Nippy."

"What do you want?" Whitney huffs, immediately wishing she was anywhere else but here.

"Just came to see how you guys are finding this so far. And to find out if you have any idea what the next game could be." He takes a seat by the pair at the table, kicking his legs up so he can use the table as a leg rest. "What are we thinking?"

"Even if we had any kind of clue, we wouldn't be telling you," Whitney spits. "Go back to the main function room and talk to somebody who cares about you."

"Ouch," Prince purrs. "Nippy's very feisty, isn't she?"

"Just let us play our game. And we'll let you play yours. We don't need you distracting us." She turns her chair to face away from him, to give a visual representation of how uninterested she is in him. "Thinking you're so smart."

"I am smart," Prince corrects. "I don't think it, I know it."

"Yeah well, we'll see just how far you get with this game, shall we? Your luck will run out eventually." She abruptly rises from her seat, taking her now-empty cup with her as she walks away from the table.

"Some people just need to learn manners," Prince comments shortly, before wandering off to annoy some other players.

Michael remains seated for a few more moments; before he too leaves the table, making his way to the main function room to find Whitney.

"So what are you here for?" Andrew asks Freddie, in the main function room.

"Well ... it's not quite so prestigious as most people in here." Freddie rubs the back of his neck with his hand nervously. "And I hope you don't view me any less for telling you."

"Of course not. Most of us are gonna die anyway. May as well give us the gossip." Andrew leans forward where he's sitting, placing his chin on his hand impatiently. "Come on. Nobody else is here. Spit it out."

"I um ... I'm just paying for medical bills," Freddie admits. "I-I just needed to raise some cash to afford treatments for stuff. Ironically I've got to risk my life in order to save it."

"I'm sorry to hear that. If you don't mind me asking, what do you need treating?" Andrews eyes soften, as he feels sympathy for the man before him.

"Uh, well, uh ... you see, I have an illness. Um, but it isn't contagious just from standing near me or anything."

"I see ... " Andrew pauses a moment, before chuckling. "But you still didn't tell me what it is. I mean, you don't have to. I was just wanting to learn more about you."

"No, it's fine." Freddie hesitates, but after a breath to build up his courage, he outs it. "I have AIDS."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Andrew places a supportive arm around him. "But hey, no judgement here. And the secret is safe with me if you want it to be."

"Thanks. I appreciate it." He nods his head, giving Andrew a smile. "Uh, it's a weird situation for me really. If I hadn't have come here and just left it untreated, I'd probably last longer than being in here. I just needed to afford to get treated ... help live a longer life. Not as long as the average human, but longer than it would have been without treatment."

"That's what sucks so bad, isn't it?" Andrew states. "Some people in here will be trying to find money for genuine causes. Although, on saying that, some are here just for the extra cash because they're greedy."

"Well yes ... " Freddie chuckles, at the sheer disbelief of some people. "Like Prince, for example. He told me he's got it so good back home. Guy just wants to be even more rich than he already is."

"You've spoken to Prince? And he didn't annoy you enough to want to punch him in the face?" Andrew folds his arms, a confused look on his face. "You've got a lot of patience, sir."

Freddie grins in amusement, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Well, forgive a man for trying to get the feelers for everybody here. Why do you think I stuck to you guys? Because you're the nicest ones in this place."

"I suppose you have a valid point, my friend."

"Anyway, why are you here, Andrew?" Freddie holds his hand out, as if holding a microphone, pointing it in Andrew's face.

He laughs. "Well, George and I wanted to start a band. But neither of us have the instruments or the money to put anything out. We thought if one of us won, we could finally take off our career."

"Oh, that's cool. Did you have a name for the band?"

"Well, it was a work in progress. We were going to explore more names after we got the cash," Andrew explains. "But we had the idea of making it like—like a cool sound. Like Bang!, or Crash! or ... or maybe Wham!"

"I like Wham!," Freddie smiles. "It sounds ... funky. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"That was our favourite too," Andrew informs him. "But obviously now, we'll never get to form our band because either one or both of us are going to die here." His eyes lower to the floor, in despair. "Freddie, that jerk is my best friend. Every day it hurts knowing we won't see each other again after this week. I wish there was a way out of here."

"Me too, buddy. Me too." Freddie places a supportive arm around him, bringing the two naturally closer together.

Their heads lean against one another's as they both sit in silence, contemplating the last few days before the end of — or the rest of — their lives.

~~

Chapter 9! I'm hoping this is still interesting to you guys?