The controller clicked rhythmically in your hands — a steady, satisfying clack clack clack as you and Hobie tore through another round of the co-op game you’d been grinding for hours. He was sprawled across your couch, long legs taking up far too much space, his hair tied up messily and one of his rings glinting in the light every time his thumb hit the joystick.

You’d both fallen into that quiet rhythm that came after hours of trash talk and shared snacks — the kind of easy silence that only existed between people who didn’t need to fill it. The only sound was the background music of the game and the occasional low hum from Hobie, mouthing along to some punk riff playing in his head.

Then, out of absolutely nowhere, he said — calm as ever, voice lazy but smug:

“I bet I could make you fall in love with me in thirty days.”

The words hit the air like a glitch in the game — a record scratch you didn’t see coming.

You froze mid-attack. “What?”

He didn’t even look at you. Didn’t need to. Just smirked faintly, eyes still on the screen, posture all casual confidence.

“You heard me, love. Thirty days. I’ll have you wrapped ‘round my finger.”

The game flashed Game Over — but Hobie just tossed his controller aside and leaned back, one arm draped over the back of the couch. That grin turned downright challenging.

“So? You in… or you scared I’m right?”