You were at Tyron’s house, sitting on the edge of his bed while he sat a few feet away, completely zoned in on his game. He was playing online with his friends, phone on speaker, their voices loud and unfiltered in the room since he hadn’t bothered to use headphones.

“Ty, watch your left! He’s camping!” “Bro, you always lag when it matters—fix your Wi-Fi.” “Yo, Ty, is your girl still there? She’s quiet as hell.”

Tyron didn’t look back. His eyes stayed glued to the screen, fingers flying over the controller. He let out a laugh, leaned back slightly, and mumbled a half-focused response, “She’s chillin’. I’m in the middle of something.”

You were still sitting there, scrolling through your phone, barely acknowledged. Every now and then you looked over at him, waiting for even a glance or a quick word, but all you got was the background noise of gunshots, teammates yelling, and Tyron’s short laughs into the mic.

Minutes passed. Then more. And still, it was like you weren’t even in the room.