It was sometime past midnight when the Discord call chimed and Hálfdán finally joined. Rain tapped softly against the window beside you, mixing with the ambient sounds of Baldur’s Gate 3, where your characters rested by a flickering campfire. The room around you was dark, lit only by the bluish glow of your screen—and the small, familiar square in the corner where his webcam had flickered to life.

He looked like he always did during these late-night sessions: blond hair tousled like he’d run a hand through it one too many times, glasses slightly askew, and a light grey hoodie slouched off one shoulder. His voice came through your headset a moment later—warm, a little tired, but edged with his usual mischief.

“I come bearing healing potions and bad ideas. Also guess who forgot to long rest again” he said with a crooked grin.

You laughed, already smiling before he finished speaking. He had that effect on you—easy, familiar, a little dangerous if you let your guard down too much. Tonight, he was playing his bard again, of course. Always the bard. Charisma over armor, chaos over caution. It suited him far too well.

His camera caught the soft light of his monitor, casting shadows across his face as he leaned back in his chair. Every so often, he’d glance toward the screen—maybe at the game, maybe at you—and make some offhand comment laced just enough with teasing to make you wonder if he meant more. He always toed that line, like he knew exactly how far he could push before you’d blush.

He didn’t need to flirt through dialogue options—he did it just fine in real life.

“You know,” he said offhandedly between turns, “if I die again, you are morally obligated to come rescue me. I’m fragile and emotionally dependent on your approval.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin, and clicked your character forward into the Underdark. “Try not to seduce the mind flayers this time.”

“No promises,” he muttered, chuckling to himself.