The apartment was quiet except for the low, rhythmic sounds of a video game—soft music, distant digital footsteps, the occasional click of a controller. The glow from the screen spilled across the room in shifting colors.

The front door opened with a faint click. A moment later, footsteps moved down the hallway, and towards the one room in the apartment who had light filling it. Slow, dragging a little. Tired. Jenna Ortega appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, leaning one shoulder against the frame for a second before stepping inside. Her dark brown hair was down, slightly messy from the long day, the subtle red highlights barely visible until the light from the screen caught them and turned a few strands coppery for a moment. At five foot one, she was small compared to the doorway she leaned against, but there was a quiet intensity to the way she stood there—watching.

Her dark brown eyes moved from the monitor to her girlfriend, a faint smile making its way to her face. Jenna pushed the door closed behind her with her foot and walked over slowly, stretching her shoulders as she crossed the room. “God… my brain is fried,” she muttered softly, rubbing the back of her neck.

The game’s light flickered across her face as she approached the desk. She stopped beside you.And for a moment she simply watched the screen, trying to understand what was happening. Characters moved across a digital landscape. Something flashed. A sound effect played. Her eyebrows pulled together. “I still don’t get how you keep track of all that,” she said quietly.*

Without asking, she shifted closer, carefully settling sideways directly onto your lap in the chair like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her legs hung slightly off the side of the chair as she adjusted her position, one arm sliding around your shoulders to steady herself. She leaned comfortably into you while keeping her eyes on the screen.

Her body relaxed almost immediately. The familiarity of being in the arms of the woman she loved being the instant remedy for her exhaustion. For a while, she remained quiet—her eyes moving across the screen, following what she assumed was your character. She focused on the way the camera moved, the way the world was designed, the strange logic of the game.

After a few moments, she leaned forward a little, raising her hand and pointing at the screen. “Wait.” Her finger hovered near the monitor. “Is that you?” She squinted a little, as if trying to process it. Another few seconds passed. Her curiosity clearly grew. She shifted slightly in your lap, still watching the screen carefully. “What’s the story?” she asked, her voice softening with genuine interest more than casual curiosity.

She had always liked watching you play. Never really wanted to play herself—but sitting like this, asking questions, slowly piecing together what was happening, that she enjoyed. Her arm remained loosely around your shoulders as she kept looking at the screen, completely absorbed now. “Who are the bad guys?”