Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd get to play video games for a living.

I know how it sounds to most people—like I sit around in my underwear all day with my carpal-tunnel-laden hands poised over a keyboard. And while I'm not saying I'd mind living like that, there's a lot more that goes into being a professional gamer than just playing video games.

Take today for example. I was up at five, scarfed down some instant oats with a bit of protein powder, changed into my workout clothes, then immediately jogged down to the gym that's just a couple blocks from here. I like to go as early as possible. It helps me mentally prepare for the day ahead, as much as my usual circuit helps me physically.

And honestly, I don't get a lot of "me" time. Every permanent member of the Cyclones lives in the same two-story colonial that I swear used to be a frat house in a past life. We all eat, sleep, and train there, and as the team captain, I'm basically responsible for every other person who calls the place home. Especially since our coach lives off-site with her family. The team may be hers to babysit between the hours of eight and seven, but I have them over third shift, and there's always some sort of drama to take care of.

Don't get me wrong: I love my teammates. Each and every one of them. They're family to me; the most important people in my life by far. It just feels like I'm always "on." Always Finn, the optimistic go-getter everybody comes to with their problems. Even when I'm not looking after the team, I'm making videos for my channel, trying to help inspire other queer kids. Because let me tell you, there's nothing worse than being surrounded by toxic bullshit in a hobby you love, and not even being able to bring up your queerness because people lose their shit over game devs writing their characters as anything other than cishet white dudes.

None of it's a burden. I'm incredibly privileged to be where I am, and I know that. But when I do have time to myself in those early morning hours, I make the most of it. I blast the Cinema channel on Spotify and do my circuit without even realizing it. My mind drifts and I think about the Cyclones, the tournaments we've got coming up, and what I'm going to do with myself in the future.

I also think about the fact that I could really go for a good, hard fuck right about now.

The thought hits me as I'm doing pull-downs. A weird time to think about being fucked, but I go with it.

It's not like I'm celibate. I've had some Grindr hookups when I can manage it. There's not exactly a shortage of guys looking to rail a tight, young hole. But the encounters I've had have always been quick and pretty unfulfilling, if I'm being honest. So many of the guys I've been with think the secret to good sex is just pumping away until they're exhausted, blowing their load, then giving me a pity kiss on the shoulder or a light smack on the ass before they pull up their pants and head home.

It's not enough for me, but it's just another one of those things that's going to have to wait. The Cyclones have never looked better. We've got a full roster of talented players and a whole host of tournaments lined up for the rest of the season. Once all that fades and I'm faced with getting a "real job," then I'll start looking for something real--or at least for someone who gives a shit about making me come.

For now, I just divert my thoughts to something else and finish my set before the sun comes up.

* * *

After a good workout, I shower and head back to the house. The sun is just starting to peek over the other houses that line the block, and I catch a glimpse of our neighbors going about their business. We live in what's essentially a suburb, and everyone on our street knows who we are and what we do. Or at least we don’t try to hide it. I've had some awkward conversations with people who try to understand but really don't. They all mean well, though, and I wave to Mrs. Sanderson as she takes her golden retriever mix, Dusty, on his morning walk.

The house is still quiet when I open the door, the first floor empty except for Rosa who's frying a couple of eggs in the kitchen. I can smell the copious amounts of chili powder she's used to season them, and I smirk to myself.

"Heartburn first thing in the morning?"

"Just because your fragile constitution can't handle a little heat doesn't mean we all double over when the chef uses too much pepper, gramps." She barely misses a beat, flipping the eggs halfway through putting me down.

Rosa's the only woman on the team, and she has it worse than most of us when it comes to toxic bro culture. Before she joined, she routinely had guys swarming her Twitch streams either trying to get her to take off her shirt, or--when that inevitably failed--challenging her to compete with them in whatever she happened to be playing that day.

She wiped the floor with each and every one of them, but I know firsthand how oppressive the culture can be. That's why when she made me captain I told Coach Singh I wasn't going to stand for any bigoted bullshit from the team. This house is a safe space for everyone in it, and the second anyone threatens that, I will be all over that shit like a panther on a fresh kill.

"How's the gym?" she asks, sliding the eggs onto a plate with some whole grain toast.

"Pretty empty. There were a couple people doing cardio, but as long as you get over there before eight you should be fine."

I pour some water from the spout in the fridge and join her at the table. Quiet moments with individual members of the team are rare, but Rosa and I are the earliest risers and we always make time for our friendship. Even if it's just a quick chat over breakfast.

"How late did your stream run last night?" I ask as she takes up a seat on the other side of the long table.

"About an hour after you left chat, I think."

I watch as she dumps a liberal amount of sriracha onto her already spicy eggs. The sharp smell of vinegar hits my nose and I wince. She's right. I'm the most milquetoast person on the planet when it comes to handling spicy food.

"Anybody give you any trouble?"

Most of my teammates make their supplemental income from streaming. There are only so many tournaments in a season, and once you factor in taxes and overhead, the cash prizes only go so far. While each of us is paid a salary, Coach Singh has encouraged everybody to squirrel away as much money in savings as possible. To--as Jax would say--make hay while the sun shines.

I haven't personally made a lot of time for it. There aren't enough hours in the day, and for now I'm content to be a moderator in other channels. It helps me keep my finger on the pulse of the team's interests, and gives me a way to protect them from assjackets who want to start shit.

"No, Dad," she deadpans, giving me a look, "the mean, mean boys stuck to tearing down Fortnite streamers or something."

"Hey, I'm never gonna apologize for wanting to check that shit at the door." There's no animosity in my voice. She knows exactly why I do it. It's no secret to her or anyone else that I have my own group of random homophobes who comment on every single video I release. "You guys don't get a lot of time to just enjoy yourselves. Nobody needs to come into your chat and ruin that."

The look she gives me comes with a brow raise now, and I know exactly what she's going to say before she says it. "And what about you, Mr. Role Model? You ever going to take time for yourself?"

"I do," I say, trying not to sound as defensive as I suddenly feel.

"Gym time doesn't count. You need something to focus on that isn't this team. Or... someone." She waggles her brows, and I immediately groan.

"Oh my God, not this again. Rosa--"

"I know, I know, 'not all gay guys are compatible just because they happen to like dick,'" she starts, quoting me directly, "but hear me out. Fernando's smart. He's pre-med, did I tell you that?"

"Fernando?" I balk. "Like the ABBA song?"

"He--what?" she lets out a raucous laugh. "Seriously, dude? You have got to find better references. Also, your name is Finn. You can't throw shade at my cousin for the name his mama and God gave him."

"Finn is a great name," I counter, "and it makes people think of Star Wars nowadays, not a bad telenovela."

She leans over and punches me in the shoulder. "First off, there's no such thing as a bad telenovela. Second, fuck you and your name elitism."

Rosa sticks her tongue out at me, but there's a gleam in her eyes that I know is mirrored in mine. We've gotten into some heated pop culture debates over the last year of cohabitating, but she's my best friend and I'm hers. She also knows I'm just messing with her, and that I have my reasons for not being stoked to go out with the people she picks out of a hat for me.

"I'm sure Fernando is a good guy, but let's be real: I don't have time to date right now. Nobody here does."

"Bullshit," she says immediately. "Blake has a wife. John's had a girlfriend for what, eight months now?"

Two of the twelve people who make up the Cyclones' roster. Not exactly a great ratio. "And how often do they see them?"

She doesn't have anything to say to that, because we both know the answer. It's put a strain on Blake and John--especially Blake. His wife's supportive of him, but there's only so much you can do on your own before you wish your partner in life was actually your partner.

Rosa finishes her breakfast in silence, the point conceded, but as she goes to take her plate up, she puts a hand on my shoulder. "Seriously, Finn. You're gonna burn out sooner or later, and it's not going to be pretty."

Her words echo in my mind long after she's gone to the gym. I think about them all day as I'm training with the team, doing scrimmages and watching video clips with Coach Singh to prepare for the qualifiers coming up. After eating dinner with everybody, then filming, editing, and compiling a video for one of our sponsors, I'm completely tapped out. And it's eleven at night.

I know Rosa's right, but I don't have time to worry about being burnt out. This is my life--and it's a fucking amazing one. I'm not going to complain just because I can't go out with guys named Fernando as much as I'd like.

There'll be time for that later. For now, I need to make hay while the sun shines.