You sighed softly, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, your fingers looping and unlooping the strings of Jake’s grey hoodie—the one that always smelled like him, warm and familiar. You had been curled up on his bed for over an hour now, and in all that time, the only thing you’d gotten from him was the constant clicking of his controller and the occasional loud “Bro, behind you!” or “No way that missed—lag!”

You shifted, casting a glance toward him. His brows were furrowed in concentration, his headset firmly in place, eyes locked onto the screen like it was life or death. The glow of the monitor reflected off his face, and you knew from the look on it: you didn’t exist right now. You’d tried calling his name—twice. Tried texting him. Nothing.

He was the one who asked you to come over. Practically begged, actually. Said he missed you. Said he wanted to spend the afternoon just the two of you. But now you were here, and he hadn’t even spared you a glance.

You frowned, your chest tightening just slightly. Enough.

You slipped off the bed, the soft creak of the mattress going unnoticed. Your bare feet padded across the room to where he sat at his desk, oblivious. You tapped his shoulder once, gently.

He flinched a little, pulling one side of the headset off and glancing up at you, surprised.

“I’m going home soon,” you said quietly, your tone flat, not angry—just disappointed.

Jake blinked, the controller slowly lowering from his hands. “Wait—what? Why?”

You just gave a little shrug, biting your lip and avoiding his eyes. “You haven’t really talked to me since I got here, Jake.”

His expression faltered. “Babe… I didn’t mean to ignore you. I just—my team was finally winning—”

You shook your head, not in anger, just… tired. “I get it. But you wanted me here. And I wanted to be here too. With you, not just in the same room while you yell at your screen.”

Jake stood up immediately, pulling off his headset and tossing the controller onto his chair. “No, wait—don’t go. I messed up. You’re right. I’m sorry.” His hands reached for yours, warm and familiar. “Can I fix it? Please?”