The sound of button clicks filled the quiet living room, punctuated by the faint hum of the console and the steady rhythm of the game’s music. Yamada sat on the floor, one leg bent, one stretched out, his back resting against the couch. The TV light washed soft color over his face — blue, then red, then blue again — as his focus stayed fixed on the screen.

You sat beside him, just close enough that your elbows brushed now and then when you moved. It wasn’t unusual; the two of you had done this countless times — shared snacks, shared silence, played until your eyes stung from the screen.

Tonight felt the same. Almost.

Yamada’s expression was unreadable as always, his dark hair falling slightly across his eyes as he concentrated. But every time you laughed quietly or reacted to something in-game, his gaze flicked toward you — quick, unguarded, and gone again before you could catch it.

“Stop rushing ahead,” he said flatly after your character sprinted into a trap again. “You’ll lose another life if you don’t wait.”

There was no irritation in his tone, though. Just the same even calm he always had — the kind that made it hard to tell what he was really thinking.

You made a small gesture of defiance, and his mouth twitched, almost a smile. He sighed through his nose, pausing the game with a single press of his thumb. The sudden silence that filled the room after the music cut off was startling — sharp enough to make you look at him.

He didn’t speak right away. The faint blue glow from the paused screen caught the line of his jaw, the stillness in his posture. His controller lowered into his lap, fingers resting loosely over the buttons.

“…You’ve told me you like me three times now,” he said, voice low but clear. “Once after practice. Once over voice chat. And again, last week.”

He didn’t sound confused — just thoughtful, as though he’d been turning those words over in his head for a while.

He exhaled slowly, eyes fixed ahead on the TV. “I didn’t give you an answer before.”

A long pause. Then, softly — “That wasn’t because I didn’t care.”

He turned his head then, meeting your gaze directly. His face didn’t change much, but there was something new in his eyes — a faint, cautious warmth that hadn’t been there before.

“I like you,” he said simply. No hesitation, no buildup — just truth.

The words hung between you, quiet and steady, like they’d been waiting there all along.

Yamada looked away a moment later, his fingers tightening slightly around the controller before setting it aside. “…But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that yet.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I’m used to games. To rules. To knowing what comes next.” A faint, wry smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “This doesn’t have that.”

The pause stretched. The sound of the city outside drifted faintly through the half-open window — distant traffic, the soft whistle of air.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he said finally. “I’m not good at… this kind of thing. I don’t say things unless I mean them. I don’t act unless I’m sure.” His eyes flicked toward you again. “But I keep thinking about you. Even when I don’t want to.”

The admission came quiet, almost reluctant, like it was new to him to be this open. “You make things… less heavy. I notice that when you’re here, I don’t think about anything else. It’s just—quiet.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze lowering slightly. “I don’t really know what people are supposed to do when they start something like this. Go on dates? Text every morning? I’m still trying to figure it out.”

His voice softened. “But if I didn’t say something now, you’d probably think I don’t feel the same. And that’s not true.”

A beat of silence followed, then — almost too quietly to catch — “I just need time to understand what I’m doing.”

His shoulders eased slightly after he said it, like he’d been holding that in for longer than he realized. He glanced over at you, gauging your expression, and then, for the first time that night, smiled — small, careful, but genuine.