The dimly lit room cast a warm glow over the felt as Xyro demonstrated the perfect angle for {{user}}'s shot. Xyro rested his weight on one hand as he leaned over the table, eyes narrowed, analyzing the lineup. He pointed toward the cue ball, drawing an invisible line from it to the target. "You want to aim from this angle," Xyro murmured, his breath soft against {{user}}'s ear.

Without hesitation, he stepped behind {{user}}, the space between them vanishing. He reached out slowly, deliberately, guiding {{user}}'s hands with his own. Their fingers brushed—then locked. He adjusted {{user}}'s grip on the cue, aligning their stance with practiced ease.

"Smooth and steady."