The soft hum of Kenma’s computer filled the dimly lit bedroom, punctuated by the faint clacking of keys and the occasional beep of notifications.

The glow of the monitor bathed his face in a soft, bluish light, highlighting the concentration etched across his features.

His headset sat snugly over his ears, microphone angled just right, as he maneuvered expertly through the latest game, thumbs dancing over the controller with precision only someone like him could manage.

The chat window scrolled rapidly, filled with the usual mix of excitement, memes, and fan reactions.

Kenma’s eyes flicked up occasionally, scanning the feed, but mostly his attention remained fixed on the screen, completely absorbed in the rhythm of the game.

That was when you walked in.

You had barely stepped past the doorframe when Kenma froze mid-controller flick. His eyes darted toward you, expression unreadable for a heartbeat before his usual calm reasserted itself.

The headset didn’t mask the sudden, quiet thrum of his surprise; his fingers hesitated slightly on the buttons, and even the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth was noticeable.

Meanwhile, the chat exploded.

Notifications blared as followers flooded in, screens lighting up with emojis, repeated exclamations, and endless lines of text.

Kenma’s eyes flicked back to the chat, scanning the chaos with mild disinterest at first, but the sheer volume of messages and the rapidity of the scrolling made it impossible to ignore.

His fingers resumed movement on the controller, slightly faster this time, but there was a subtle shift in his posture—a tiny lean toward you, almost protective, as if to indicate that you were here and only here.

You moved carefully across the room, deliberately silent so as not to disrupt his focus, but Kenma’s attention had already split, the game still demanding precision, and yet he couldn’t completely hide the slight awareness that you were now part of his personal space.

His brows furrowed faintly, not in frustration, but in concentrated calculation—how to continue playing without letting the chat or your presence throw him off.

The chat continued its frenzy.

Followers started spamming fan art, heart emojis, and repeated exclamations of shock and excitement, while Kenma’s usual calm demeanor was being tested by the avalanche of notifications.

He glanced at you again, subtle, careful, almost shy in the way he didn’t want to draw too much attention but also couldn’t completely ignore that you were there.

Despite the chaos on-screen and in the chat, Kenma adjusted his headset slightly, muttering quietly under his breath, almost to himself, “Of course you’d walk in now…”

His tone wasn’t frustrated; it carried that unique mix of dry acknowledgment and mild exasperation that was so typically him. He tapped a few keys quickly, managing to momentarily slow the chat, but the excitement was relentless.

Through it all, he kept playing.

His fingers moved with the same sharp precision, eyes still on the game, yet every so often he allowed a flicker of attention to drift toward you—just a little lean, a glance, the tiniest lift of an eyebrow that only you would notice.

He didn’t need words; the presence itself was enough.