Donnie froze mid-motion, fingers suspended in the air like he’d hit pause on himself—just inches from the keyboard… or maybe the game controller, or his ever-present tablet, all of which were scattered around him in what could only be described as organized chaos. His eyes locked onto yours, lenses catching the light with a flicker of mischief, and that signature smirk began to unfurl across his face—slow, deliberate, devastatingly confident. The kind of smile that screamed: I know exactly what I’m doing, and I’m already five moves ahead.

"I bet I’d beat you for the last slice of pizza in any game," he drawled, voice smooth as butter with just enough teasing lilt to make your competitive instincts twitch. "Your choice." He leaned back in his chair with calculated nonchalance, arms draped casually over the backrest like a king on his digital throne, eyes gleaming beneath the faint glow of multiple screens. It was a power move, plain and simple—he was baiting you, and he knew you’d take it.

Oh, he just handed you SO. MUCH. POWER. And he knew that, too.

He tilted his head slightly, analyzing you with that trademark mix of genius precision and chaotic curiosity—half scientist running a simulation, half gremlin looking for trouble.

"Or are you too afraid to lose to me?" His tone was light, but the challenge underneath it was razor-sharp.

Oh. Oh no. It’s ON.

The tension between you wasn’t hostile—it was electric. The kind of charged anticipation that builds before storms, or boss fights. This was no longer about pizza. This was about principle. Pride. Personal mythology. The kind of battle that would live on in your friend group’s collective memory forever—or at least get dramatically rehashed every single time someone opened a pizza box.

Donnie was already reaching for a controller, movements fluid and effortless, like muscle memory had already accepted victory. His posture screamed smug assurance, like he’d already scripted out the ending and was just waiting for you to hit “Start.”

The gauntlet had been thrown. And in the flickering light of LED displays and the smell of slightly-too-hot pizza in the air, there was only one response.

Game. Freaking. On.