When We Hunted Together
(Story by All-X - refined with the help of AI editing)
A and B had known each other since they were kids.
Back then, their world was small — just the neighborhood, a dusty PS2, and one shared obsession: Monster Hunter.
Every evening after school, they’d meet at A’s place, two controllers tangled in cables, yelling across the room.
“Oi, you took the last potion again!” A would shout.
B would laugh, “Because you keep dying first, dumbass!”
They’d laugh until A’s mom yelled at them to lower the volume.
Years blurred together.
They grew up, graduated, drifted, reconnected — the kind of friendship that always picked up where it left off.
Until the night at the bar.
The Bar
A spotted him first.
“Hey!” he called, raising a hand.
B turned — sharp haircut, new clothes, confident posture. Different. But the eyes were the same.
They sat together. Two beers. Small talk. But something was… off.
The jokes didn’t land. The silences stretched.
A laughed nervously. “Man, it’s weird. Feels like I’m talking to someone else.”
B smiled — polite, distant. “Maybe I am someone else now.”
Then he finished his drink, stood up, and said softly, “Good seeing you, A. Take care, okay?”
He walked out before A could even reply.
A stared at the empty seat, confused and a little hollow.
He didn’t know it yet — that was the last “normal” night they’d ever have.
The Truth
A mutual friend told him weeks later, voice careful, almost apologetic.
“Hey, A… you should know. B’s gay now. And, uh… he liked you. Like, really liked you.”
A froze.
He didn’t know what to say.
He wasn’t angry, just… disoriented. Like someone had rewritten the past in a language he couldn’t read anymore.
He thought of all those years — the sleepovers, the shared jokes, the late-night hunts.
Were those just friendship to him and something else to B?
He hated himself for even thinking that.
That night, A told his wife.
The Talk
They sat on the couch, the TV muted.
He told her everything — the awkward bar meet, the silence, the news.
His wife listened quietly, fingers tracing the mug she was holding.
Then she said, “You can’t expect him to act like the old days.”
A looked at her, startled.
She continued, “You represent something painful for him. Every time he sees you, it reminds him of what he can’t have. That’s not your fault. But it’s real.”
She paused, met his eyes.
“If it really bothers you that much… maybe move. Start over somewhere else. You don’t owe him distance, but you both need peace.”
A didn’t answer. He just nodded slowly.
The Move
They did move.
New neighborhood, new job, new people.
A buried himself in work, in parenting, in life.
But sometimes, when the house was quiet, he’d open his console.
The old game was still installed. Monster Hunter.
He’d scroll through the friends list — B’s name still there, greyed out.
One night, he sent a message:
“Hey. Just checking in. How’ve you been?”
Days passed. No reply.
Eventually, he stopped checking.
The Memory
Months later, his wife found him sitting in front of his monitor.
The screen glowed faintly — character idle in the camp, controller untouched.
“You okay?” she asked.
He didn’t look away from the screen. “Yeah.”
Then after a pause, “Just remembering.”
“Remembering what?”
He smiled faintly.
“Our first hunt. We didn’t even know how to block yet. Got wiped by a Rathalos in five minutes.”
He chuckled once. “We laughed for hours after that. Stayed up all night grinding. Man… I thought those days would never end.”
His wife walked closer, rested her hand on his shoulder.
“They were good days,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “They were.”
He stayed there a moment longer, eyes on the campfire flickering in the game.
Then, almost under his breath:
“Guess we both moved on. Still… good hunt, old friend.”
He pressed Start.
His character walked into the forest, alone this time.
The monsters still roared. The quest still began.
And somewhere deep down, A smiled — not because it felt the same, but because he finally stopped wishing it would.
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