I can’t believe I’m stuck here with him again. PlayStation Guy lounges on the tattered couch in our shared apartment, smug as ever, his console glowing beside him like it’s the holy grail. I try to focus on my game, but every time I catch a glimpse of him, something in me tightens.

I’m so damn sick of his bratty, whiny attitude, always acting like his console is the best. But what really eats at me? How much I want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

I glare at my screen, my fingers gripping the controller, trying to ignore the heat building in my chest.

Why does he do this to me?