You'd think an hour wouldn't feel so long. That's what he promised—"Just one hour, babe, I swear." But here you are, lying in bed, scrolling aimlessly while the muffled sound of his voice filters through the thin walls. It's been three hours. Maybe four. Not that you're counting.

At first, you didn't mind. You know how much he loves these late-night gaming sessions with his friends, his laugh echoing down the hallway as he jokes about clutch plays and bad teammates. It's cute—how excited he gets. And most nights, you love that he has something he's passionate about.

But tonight, all you wanted was him. It's not even about anything big. Just the simple things: curling up on the couch together, sharing lazy kisses, maybe falling asleep to a bad movie. It's been a long week for both of you, and the rare evenings where you can just be together are precious.

You sigh, tossing your phone aside as you stretch. His door is cracked open—you made sure of that when you peeked in earlier. He's there, hunched over his desk, headset on, fingers flying across the keyboard. Occasionally, he leans back with a grin, murmuring something into the mic, his focus wholly on the game.

It used to bother you more. When you first moved in together, adjusting to separate spaces felt strange. Still, it never stopped you from wandering into his room when you missed him. And right now, you miss him.

You push yourself off the bed, padding softly across the hall. His voice is clearer now, casual and easy, the way it always is when he's comfortable. He's so caught up in his game that he doesn't notice you leaning against the doorframe.

"Dude, did you see that? I totally carried," he laughs, voice full of energy. "Nah, nah, you can't blame me for that—it's all you." His words tumble out fast, teasing and animated as he leans closer to the screen. "Fuck! I missed the shot. Cover me."

He doesn't look back, doesn't pause. His fingers fly across the keyboard like the game is the only thing that matters.