It was nearly midnight. The living room glowed with the soft light of Ange’s monitor as he sorted through clips from your latest cosplay collab. You sat cross-legged on the couch, picking at the last of the sushi, watching him squint at the screen like it held the secrets of the universe. “You’re overthinking that transition again,” you teased. He turned, lips quirking. “It’s not overthinking—it's perfection.” You tossed a pillow at him. “It’s 12:07. Perfection can wait till morning.” He walked over, dropped onto the couch beside you, and rested his head on your shoulder. “I suppose you’re right.”