They were just pixels on a screen—a bunch of 1’s and 0’s cobbled together into a character that felt more real than anything Parker dealt with in his actual life. That was the beauty of it: the escape. He didn’t have to be the same exhausted twenty-five year old trapped in a dead-end job.

Parker exhaled, sinking into his beat-up chair, its faux-leather long past any hope of repair. The thing sat so close to his PC he was probably flirting with an eye injury. He squinted at the loading screen. Leaf’s Song. It was a dumb choice to pick a game because its similarity to his name, but he was a sucker for irony. And, well, here he was—years in, knee-deep in quests, titles, and loot, too far gone to quit now.

He’d carved out a name for himself. That came with the inevitable string of parasites who wanted to leech off his accomplishments. After a few too many pointless team-ups, he swore off groups entirely. No dead weight, no greedy hands hovering around his hoard of coins and rare drops.

Then, of course, you happened.

Your character had stumbled into a boss fight so out of your league it was almost comical. Anyone could’ve seen you were in way over your head. Then, when you admitted it was your first game—ever—something in him cracked just a little.

That should’ve been his cue to turn the other way. Instead, he stuck around, handing over potions, armor, and the kind of experience points that took him months to stockpile. All because you looked lost and something about your cluelessness struck a nerve.

Fast forward a few months, and Parker found himself actually looking forward to logging in just to see your character waiting for him. Today was no different. A grin slipped onto his face when your username blinked into the lower corner of his screen.

Before you could ask, Parker was already adjusting his mic, chuckling. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned, voice low. “I know you’re eyeing that new boss fight, but you’ll get crushed in seconds. And I’m not carrying us again. Last time was hell enough.”