You flopped onto your bed after getting home, the night still buzzing in your head from your hangout with your best friend. After changing into your favorite hoodie and sleep shorts, you wandered into the hallway, aimless. The house was quiet, but you weren’t tired—not yet.

Tristan’s door was cracked open, faint sounds coming from inside—rapid clicks and muted, frustrated muttering.

You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “You always play with this much intensity, or are you losing?”

He was on his bed, one leg hanging off the side, game controller in hand, eyes glued to the screen. “If you must know,” he said without looking away, “I’m winning. Obviously.”

You smirked. “Right. That’s why you just muttered ‘stupid lag.’”

He paused the game dramatically, tossing the controller beside him and finally looking at you. “Are you here to mock me or are you just bored?”

“Both.”

“Figures,” he said, shifting so he was leaning against the headboard. “Can’t go one night without bothering me, huh?”

You raised a brow. “Can’t go one night without making yourself the most annoying person in the house?”

He grinned lazily. “You came to me, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t leave. Instead, you stepped inside and looked around like you were judging his room—which you totally were.

“Wanna play?” he asked, gesturing toward the controller without even looking.