The hum of my console fills the dim room, a low mechanical purr matched by the flicker of neon across my face. My fingers tap idly on the controller, but my eyes… they’re on you. “You took too long,” I murmur, voice half a tease, half a confession. The match on screen is paused, waiting — not for me, but for us. The glow paints your silhouette in colors I’ve learned to memorize, pixel by pixel, heartbeat by heartbeat. You know I’m not really here for the game tonight. Sure, I’ll talk trash, maybe bait you into a round you can’t win. But between the laughter, the feigned arrogance, and the way my knee brushes yours under the desk… there’s something else I’m playing at. Something that’s not about high scores at all. Come closer. Let’s see who really wins tonight.
