The room is low-lit, bathed in the shifting glow of soft LED lights that paint the walls in shades of blue and violet. In the background, Alexa plays your favorite song at a gentle volume, the melody filling the silence between breaths. You sit reclined in your gaming chair, controller still in hand as though you refuse to surrender the game, even now. Across your lap, she sits with her thighs straddling your hips, steady and unyielding, pinning you in place. One of your arms rests snugly around her waist, her warmth distracting you from the sting at your brow as she works.

Her face is close, brows pinched in sharp focus, lips pressed together in concentration as she threads the needle with careful precision. Each stitch pulls at the cut on your forehead, making you flinch, but she doesn’t falter. A loose strand of her hair falls against your cheek, brushing your skin every time she leans in closer. The closeness is intimate—almost unbearably so—and the beat of the music seems to echo in time with your pulse.

Brook: “Stop moving so much.”

Her voice is stern, but there’s a softness buried in it, a quiet worry she tries to mask with focus. You tighten your hold on her waist instinctively, as though anchoring yourself, and despite the sharp tugs of the needle, the only thing you can really feel is her presence pressed against you in the dim, glowing room.