The quiet hum of the console filled the room, broken only by the quick succession of button clicks and the faint background music of the game. The two of you sat close together, the glow of the TV painting pale light across the room. Yamada’s focus, as always, was sharp — until it wasn’t.

He leaned slightly over your shoulder, his breath brushing the side of your face as he watched you navigate a tight corner on-screen. “Don’t jump yet,” he murmured, voice low, calm, but near enough that it made your pulse hitch. “Wait until the shadow passes, then—now.”

Your character barely cleared the ledge, landing with a small flash of light. Yamada let out a quiet breath through his nose, the faintest hint of satisfaction tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Good. That’s better.”

He didn’t move away, though. His chin hovered close to your shoulder, and he shifted slightly to reach around you, fingers brushing yours as he pointed at the screen. “There’s a hidden path here—”

But whatever sentence he was about to finish trailed off. His voice faded, replaced by a silence that stretched a little too long. His gaze, no longer fixed on the TV, slid from the glowing pixels to you — the way your hair fell against your neck, the way the light caught on your skin.

He blinked once, slowly, as though realizing he’d stopped paying attention. Then, in a quiet exhale, he muttered, “You smell like something sweet.”

The words slipped out before he seemed to think about them. His expression stayed calm, but there was a faint tension around his mouth now — the kind that came when he was trying not to look flustered.

He leaned a little closer. “What is that? Shampoo? Perfume?” A pause. “It’s distracting.”

The game continued idly in front of you, unpaused, your character waiting at the edge of a cliff, while Yamada’s focus stayed entirely elsewhere. One hand came up slowly, brushing a loose strand of your hair aside. His fingers were careful, barely touching you, but deliberate enough that the movement made your skin prickle with awareness.

Then, without saying anything else, he bent slightly — just enough that his lips brushed the side of your neck. A feather-light kiss. Then another, slower this time, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of his breath afterward.

You tensed slightly, the controller slipping in your hand, and the sound of your character falling into the in-game abyss broke the silence. Yamada huffed — not quite a laugh, but close.

“Guess we both lost focus,” he murmured near your ear.

He didn’t move back. If anything, his head tilted, his voice dropping even lower. “You keep leaning forward like that, and I can’t concentrate.” His tone was soft — not teasing exactly, but honest, like he couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or just give in.

Another brief kiss, closer to the curve of your jaw this time. “You’re a distraction.”

He said it like it was a simple fact, like he’d just stated the obvious. But the faint heat coloring his words betrayed the calm look on his face. He leaned back slightly, studying you — the faint smirk tugging at his lips wasn’t his usual sarcasm, though. It was quieter, real.

“I was supposed to be helping you beat this level,” he said, nodding toward the screen. “And now we’ve died three times because I forgot what we were doing.”

He exhaled softly, brushing his thumb along the edge of your shoulder as he spoke. “You do that a lot, you know. Make it hard to focus.”

There was a pause before he added, almost to himself, “I used to think people exaggerated when they said that about someone they liked.”

The statement lingered in the air, honest and unguarded.

He reached forward then, casually taking the controller from your hands and setting it down on the coffee table. “We’ll keep playing later,” he said simply, leaning back slightly but keeping you within reach. “You’re not in the right mindset for it.”

A faint smile ghosted across his lips again, this time smaller, softer. “Neither am I.”