The Gamer Chapter 1662 – Best Man 2 – Need. [Layla POV] (Patreon)

‘I’m going to meet him. I’m going to meet him. I’m going to meet him.’

The thought echoed with excitement in her head. Shivers of pleasure wandered up and down her body. His proximity was more pronounced than ever. Months ago, she would have passed out. Weeks ago, she would have been a gushing, blissfully babbling mess on the floor. Days ago, she would have been a trembling, blissfully speaking mess standing upright. Today, she was just coherent enough to teeter at the edge of orgasm.

‘I’m going to meet him. I’m going to meet him. I’m going to meet him.’

The thought echoed with dread in her heart. What if she started stammering? What if she broke down right in front of him, in the middle of the crowd? Would he think she was weird? No, no, he was the perfect one, her man, HER man; he would find it endearing if anything! And he would find her attractive… right?

‘I’m going to meet him. I’m going to meet him. I’m going to meet him.’

The thought echoed with love in her head. All of her life – NO! All of her bloodline had led to this moment. From the first single-celled organism that had formed in the primordial soup to the first amphibians that had dragged themselves on land all the way to her, all had happened only so she could finally meet him. Every romance of her ancestors had been done only to grant her the genes to make her shapely and highly breedable.

‘Please, please look breedable,’ she pleaded to herself and checked herself in the mirror of the apartment. ‘I look so stilted!’

The dress she wore was a tailor-made thing of a few layers. Her assets were emphasized enough by the white corset that covered the midriff of the blue dress. Enough was the operative word. The cleavage was not as deep as Salamander usually wore hers. Worse, the skirt had frills. Frills! How was he supposed to fall in love with her plump thighs and wide hips if he saw the merest hint of the bottom of her curves. That was the most important part!

‘I’m going to murder that tailor!’ she thought to herself, a sudden surge of hate rising within her. ‘Frills bring out my natural cuteness, he said! What an absolute imbecile! I need a Gamer Attractor! Why can’t I wear spandex?! It worked for Lu Zhi!’

All thoughts were suddenly eliminated when she heard the knocks on the door. She sprinted over as quickly as the skirt of the dress allowed her to. At least she hadn’t been forced to wear high heels! High heels were highly impractical when chasing someone.

The door opened and she found three maids standing there. Two she expected, Aclysia and Claire being, after all, the organizers of this all. The third, Momo, beheld her with a raised eyebrow. “You know, I gave you the benefit of the doubt,” the sassy maid sighed. “You know what I said about not adding anymore girls to the harem!”

Layla felt her insides freeze and all sensations of pleasure inside her turn into a cold rage. Cold, it only remained for half a second, before turning so hot it threatened to cascade out of her skin. The flames of righteous passionate rage at the implication nearly took over, but she grit her teeth and just growled at the unbelieving woman. “He’s perfect, he can handle all the women he wants!”

Momo tilted her head. Both Aclysia and Claire stood to either side of the doorframe, leaving a clear corridor for Layla to lunge. An invitation? No, a test! Layla realized what was at stake. Weeks of training of reining in her ‘worst excesses’ to ‘fit into regular society’, as Lorelei put it, put to the test. Forcefully calming her breathing, Layla concentrated on what she could have if she did not cause any trouble.

‘More of John’s t-shirts – no! John snuggles!’ she thought. Pleasantly warm, love and pleasure spread through her arms, until she had managed to reduce her fully reasonable indignation to a ‘socially acceptable’ level. “I am Layla Viorica,” she introduced herself. “And I’m going to join this harem! John wants me – he will want me. He’s too perfect not to want me!”

“Perfect is not the word I would use…” Momo mumbled and scanned who would inevitably be her fellow haremette. Another long sigh escaped her. The fairy maid rubbed her forehead. “You’re right that he would want you, though… evidently you’re not a totally mindless mess.” Momo put a hand on her hip. “Urgh, we’ll have a long and hard talk about this when you come clean to everyone. For now, just do what you wanted to.”

“Thank you,” Aclysia said, with genuine relief in her voice. “Follow, Layla.”

“Yes!” She eagerly left the little room she had spent the past two days in. It was a tiny chamber near the servant’s quarters, the kind of room that was not given to any guest of honour in case they took offense or something like that. Layla did not care, she was just ecstatic that it was happening. The human obstacles did not stop them and then they were in.

“You will find our John on your own,” Aclysia whispered to her. “We will be nearby. Be mindful that this is your opportunity to make a first impression. You will most likely not withstand his raw charisma for more than a few minutes, so wait for a proper opportunity. We will create an opening for you to leave once we deem you are reaching your limit. If you can endear yourself immediately, that is to your credit, but I advise the long game.”

“Do not test the access you’ve been given,” Claire added. That stupid bitch thought that she could tell her how much she was allowed to- “Ah! I see it in your eyes, Layla! Do not be a bad girl, Master does not like bad girls… well, not this kind of bad girl.”

“Fine,” Layla spat out. “Can I go now?”

The maids nodded and she took a deep breath.

Out of the alcove and into the crowd. The various auras of high society surrounded her like a heated blanket. The power concentrated in these halls was magnificent. Her sensibility to the magic all subconsciously emitted had always, to a degree, felt like sexual stimulation. Warm as her skin felt, it all was a frigid waste compared to the iridescent sun that glowed like a knot of rainbows nearby. A mass of all colours, but gold and purple most of all, dominating her every sense.

Layla wanted to break out into a sprint. All of the training of controlling herself was eroding, like a dam made of mud once the first drops made it past. She cheered on this decay of the restrictions. ‘Who needs all of this! There he is! There’s my man, there is – Romulus.’

The Apex was in the corner of her eyes, then in the centre of her vision. Her entire body snapped around with such intensity that her joints stung.

‘What is he doing here – no, no wait, that… of course he would be here… Layla, of course he would be here….’ All of the insane desire for the Gamer wrestled with a different kind of need. A long-held grudge reduced to a curiosity, demoted to an aspect of the person she had been before she had been enlightened by the prismatic aura of John Newman. It bubbled back to the surface and with it a paralyzing storm of emotion. She was torn between the need to see him and the need for an answer. ‘Breathe and steady yourself,’ she repeated Lorelei’s core lesson to herself. ‘To see your desires realized, you must be able to behave appropriately.’

Layla Viorica strutted with long, confident steps towards Romulus.

“Excuse me,” she said to the Apex.

The man was easily a metre taller than her. A duo of goddesses flanking him blinked in surprise at her approach, but said nothing. The Apex had been mid conversation with someone else, whose aura registered as annoyed crackles of expelled mana at the edge of Layla’s awareness. They did not matter.

The Apex faced her in full, dark green eyes beholding her. “How can I help you?” he asked, his voice deep and rumbling.

“Does the name Viorica mean anything to you?”

Romulus did not respond immediately. No ‘what a strange question’ or other kind of comment. He just stood there, his eyes taking on a distant view. “I have known of people with that name…” Layla’s body tensed up like a compressed coil. “…but that was long ago and it was never personal.”

Not the answer she was looking for. She needed to be more specific in her question. She forced herself to remain still. She forced herself to speak normally, like she used to. “I’m sorry if this is odd. About a decade ago, two people were murdered by people that declared themselves members of the Sons of Rome.”

Romulus’ expression turned thunderous at the implication. “Where?”

Layla’s mouth was dry, her answer imprecise. All energy faded from her mind and muscles. “North America,” she said in a hollow tone. Already, she had her answer.

Anger was replaced with confusion on the Apex’s face. He glanced at Luna, who shook her head. “I have only recently come out of a long withdrawal from administrative affairs,” the Apex told her. “I have no knowledge of any colonies of my empire in that area, especially not in recent times. I will investigate it.”

“Most likely,” Luna weighed in, “someone claimed the name to make themselves look bigger than they were.”

Layla closed her eyes for a brief moment, then nodded. “I guessed as much. Thank you.”

Before she could be entangled in any questions in return, she turned around and walked away. She swiftly melded back into the crowd, suppressing her aura to throw off any pursuers. No one would remember her, not by her magical footprint anyhow.

The curiosity had been sated, but she was still left confused. That what she had been and that what she was supposed to be in the presence of his brilliance were at war.

‘Who – what am I? Am I a stalker? Fuck, I’m a stalker and it feels so right!’ she thought to herself. ‘I need air!’

With the barest hint of elegance, she managed to walk away from the majority of the crowd and made it to one of the outgoing corridors. She emerged on a rooftop garden, elevated from the public grounds below by a three-metre wall. A tall railing served as a good place for her to rest her swirling head for a moment. Arms crossed on stone, chin on her arms, there, she stood, and breathed, and… what?

Layla knew what she wanted to be. She wanted to feel more of that warmth, of that prismatic glory. She wanted to be that stalker, crazy as that was to that sliver of the ‘reasonable’ woman that was suddenly at the back of her mind. She wanted that and she could have and she could have him and she would have him. She would. She needed him. Once she was his though, then what? Then, exactly, what was she? What had she been without him, before she had been touched by his aura? What could she be for him?

Was this really all she was now, an obsession with a man she had never spoken to?

Was that really so bad?

‘Urgh, this is Lorelei’s fault!’ she thought. ‘She made me focus on things that aren’t him!’

Layla tried to focus on John. It was the first time in recent months that she had lost track of him without him being in an entirely different space. Everything was the wrong way around. Why was she so focused on herself when he was-

“Are you alright?”

His voice made her shiver head to toe. Ambrosia was being poured down her ears. She turned around and spotted him. There he stood, the perfect man, a glass of water in his hand, looking at her all worried.

“W-w-w-why wouldn’t I—I be?” Layla stammered. ‘NO, YOU DUMB BITCH! SAY ‘I LOVE YOU’! SAY ‘YOUR AURA IS MAKING ME GUSH LIKE THE NIAGARA FALLS!’! Say ‘I’M YOURS, MAKE ME YOURS’!!!’

John gave her a smile that wiped all the thoughts and worries away. He stopped next to her, sipped from his glass, and looked down at the crowd below. “You know, fate can be a strange thing,” he said. It was confusing, yet she was absorbed. He knew he had her attention, that she hung on his flawless lips. “It wasn’t terribly long ago that I was feeling stressed beyond realization and then a random stranger just asked me about it. I didn’t talk much with her, but the question was important to me. It meant that people could see my distress, even when I wasn’t clear on it, and it reminded me that many people care.”

“A lot of people care about you, John,” she mumbled. ‘NO! FUCK! LAYLA, COME ON! SAY ‘I CARE ABOUT YOU MORE THAN THE ENTIRETY OF THE PLANT MATTER ON EARTH CARES ABOUT THE SUN!’!’

He laughed and again that inner turmoil was undone, washed away like a drop of red paint in an ocean current. “Quite so, but is it not comforting to know that, even if fate isn’t pre-ordained, the universe ultimately puts good things in your path that you didn’t expect? For every trial we endure in the proper way, we make someone else’s life brighter. In due time, someone might see it fit to show their own virtue through an action that benefits us. A practical look at karma, if you will.” He put his empty glass on the tall railing. “If you want to talk, I’d be happy to try and help you. If you want me to go, then I just want you to know that there are people out there that will listen.”

Layla’s thoughts were silent.

“I don’t know!” she burst out. “I was just drifting along and then I found this purpose, this ultimate purpose in life, and just now I practically had it and now I’m here, more confused than ever before. I didn’t have any more confusion, no more doubts, I was in a constant state of bliss, and now I have all of these doubts wrestling with that and I know that I want that bliss back but who am I, even?”

John beheld her with his hazel eyes. Layla could see the contact lenses for what they were. A separated and yet connected aura highlighted the items to her perception, two dots of horned interference in a being of ultimate light.

“It sounds like you jumped into the deep end,” he finally answered. “I won’t pry what exactly it is, but whatever is giving you this absolute bliss… you should reconsider how you approach it.”

“You’re saying I should quit?” mumbled Layla, voice made passive from the conflict raging quietly inside her. Could she rage at him? Could she stab him for the impudence of telling her to not love him? Yes. No. No. Yes?

No.

No, she could not harm that patient smile.

“No – unless we’re having a conversation about something like heroin. Which, considering how gorgeous you are, is probably not the case.” Layla just stared at him, her brown eyes into his. They were like swirling pools of power and intrigue. “I’ll take that as a no,” he joked. “Look, if something is making you happy, you shouldn’t just let it go. It’s fine if you can’t imagine living without something too, depending on what it is. No one would call a mother crazy for loving her child enough to sacrifice everything for it.”

John Newman let his gaze wander into the far-off distance. For a moment, Layla was struck, not by his aura, not even by his voice, but just by the shape of his jawline and the broadness of his shoulders. No propaganda artist in the world could have drawn a more perfect man, a more distilled version of average yet flawless masculinity. Tall, handsome, a mysterious air of wisdom and might around him.

“I won’t pry,” he repeated, “so excuse me if this is a bit off the mark. The subject, object, or whatever it is, that causes you bliss, it’s fine to let it define you. Yet, you are more than that. Anyone who cares about you will tell you that. You should strive to be the kind of person you believe deserves absolute bliss. It’s not straightforward or simple. Nothing ever is.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You are strong enough to get through that.”

The hand lingered for a moment, squeezed her in a friendly manner, then he stepped away.

Layla turned to look at his back, slowly growing smaller as he walked towards the corridor. His shape blurred. Everything blurred as she blinked away tears that started to rise.

‘I’ve been wrong to chase his aura,’ she thought. Inside her, the woman she had been melted away, mixed into the obsession and into something new, something even stronger and purer. ‘Why would I love him just for his aura… he is perfect. He is actually perfect, he is… Oh. He touched me. HE TOUCHED ME!’

Layla put a hand on her shoulder, to prevent the air from removing any traces of his aura left on her skin. The internal conflict subsided. There was none anymore. Obsession? Of course she was obsessed! She was rightfully obsessed, because she loved him! What the old, plain, unenlightened girl realized was one true and simple thing: that Layla Viorica being attracted to John Newman was even more natural than gravity.

Obsession. No, love, it was love first, then obsession. This was no longer a matter of bliss, this was a matter of a pure maiden getting the man she deserved! Layla took half a step forwards, to run after him, to pour her heart out to him. After picking that empty glass up! His aura was still lingering on it too. His glorious, prismatic aura, her way to find him, to find his dark eyes and immaculate jaw and his deep voice and the wisdom, that deep wisdom that she would follow! The best version of herself, always basking in the bliss of being by his side, in the range of his smile, of his-

Her aura sense slammed back into her with full force. All there was, was him and the trace his touch had left on her. Under the long skirt, her legs trembled. ‘Must… talk… more…’ she thought, barely biting back an orgasmic wail. ‘Must… know… more… about… him…. Must… hear… voice… must… prove…’

“Why did you have to go outside,” she heard Claire hiss. Then her face was grabbed. Red eyes dominated her field of vision. “Sleep.”

And Layla fell into a deep slumber.