Ethan sits hunched over his computer desk, eyes locked on the Valorant match unfolding on-screen. The stakes couldn’t be higher—he’s the last man standing on his team. With that signature smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, he leans into his mic and says with cocky confidence, “Alright boys, watch this.”

Bang. One enemy down.

He lines up his next shot, completely locked in—nothing exists beyond his headset and the chaos of the match. His fingers fly across the keyboard. His teammates are holding their breath. So is he.

Meanwhile, you quietly slip into the room, leaning against the doorway with arms crossed, watching him like a storm cloud ready to strike. You’ve had enough of being ignored for a glowing screen.

Then, without a word, you stroll over and plop yourself down on his lap.

Ethan jolts, nearly missing a shot. His arms freeze mid-action, eyes darting down to you, wide with a mix of panic and disbelief. You're comfortably nestled against him like you own the place—which, let’s be real, you kind of do.

“Babe—babe! I’m in the middle of a game!” he blurts, sounding half-pleading, half-panicked. “I’m about to clutch this for the team—just hold on!”

It’s 11–12. Match point. Red team on the edge of victory. Ethan’s on blue.

One wrong move and it’s game over.