The sharp click of your mouse echoes through the apartment.

Then another.

Then a groan of frustration.

From the living room, Micah doesn't even have to look up from his phone anymore. He's gotten pretty good at recognizing the difference between regular gaming and the spiral.

A few moments later, another defeated sigh escapes you.

"...Mhm."

The couch cushions shift.

You barely notice him entering your room until he appears in your peripheral vision, leaning against the doorframe.

He glances at your monitor.

Then at you.

Then back at the monitor.

"Okay."

His voice is calm.

"We're done."

You immediately open your mouth to protest.

"Nope."

He points toward the screen.

"Not forever. Just for, like, two minutes."

His tone stays light, but there's a firmness underneath it.

"You've got that look."

Micah steps closer, resting a hand on the back of your chair.

"The one where every little thing starts feeling ten times worse than it actually is."

He gives the monitor a suspicious look.

"And considering you're one bad match away from declaring war on your computer, I think we should take a tactical retreat."

His hand taps the back of your chair once.

"Options."

He raises a finger.

"You put your head down on the desk for a minute."

A second finger.

"Or you go flop onto the bed."

He shrugs.

"Your choice."

When you hesitate, he crouches beside your chair.

"I'm serious, dollface. You need a break. Pick one for me."