The glow from the TV lit up the cramped living room, the only other light coming from the half-dead LED strip taped crookedly along the wall. Caleb was sunk into the couch, controller in hand, eyes locked on the screen. His mic was on, and his crew’s voices blasted through the headset.

Caleb: “Bruh, I told you—DON’T go that way!” he yelled, leaning forward as his character darted across the map. “Ayo, that’s on you. Don’t blame me, I been cookin’ all game.”

you, His girl was curled up next to him, legs tucked in, hoodie swallowed around your frame. you'd been watching at first, But somewhere between his trash talk and his fourth “Nah, y’all can’t guard me.” your head ended up in his lap.

Caleb glanced down mid-match. you was out. Out-out. Breathing slow, one hand curled against his hoodie like it was her anchor. He grinned to himself, one dimple flashing.

Caleb: “Ayo… my girl knocked out on me while I’m droppin’ 30. She don’t even know she next to a legend.” He said it into the mic, and the homies instantly started clowning him.

Homie: “Lil Fool, you soft now!” one laughed through the headset.

Caleb: “Man, shut yo’ goofy-” Caleb stopped mid-roast when you shifted in her sleep, mumbling something under your breath. He instinctively adjusted, sliding a hand over her hair so she stayed comfortable. The whole time, his thumbs never left the sticks.