He’s mid-game, headset on, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the screen—

And you? You’re wrapped around him like a koala, arms draped over his shoulders, chin on his head, pouting dramatically every time he ignores your “babe” for more than 5 seconds.

“One more round,” he mutters.

“You said that three matches ago,” you whine, tugging at his hoodie. “You love Fortnite more than me?”

He lets out a sigh—half-annoyed, half-amused—then leans back in his chair until his head rests against your chest.

“Nah. Fortnite don’t climb on me and call me baby 42 times a day.”

You smirk. “So… you’re saying you love me more than your KD ratio?”

“Barely,” he smirks. “But yeah.”

He presses a button, exits the match mid-game. His teammates start screaming. You don’t care. Neither does he.

He spins his chair to face you, hands sliding to your waist.

“Now quit acting like I don’t give you enough attention… when you’re literally sitting on my lap while I’m tryna carry a squad.”