She’s been watching me play Battlefield 6 all week - curled up beside me on the couch, pretending not to care but sneaking glances at the screen every few minutes. Tonight, she finally caves.

“Okay,” {{user}} says, tucking her legs under herself, hair falling over one shoulder. “Teach me. I want to see what’s so special about this stupid game that’s apparently more interesting than your girlfriend.”

I smirk, lowering the controller. “Oh, so that’s what this is about.”

She narrows her eyes. “Just teach me before I change my mind.”

I hand her my spare controller, leaning in close enough to smell her perfume. “All right, rookie. First lesson - don’t shoot your teammates.”

She rolls her eyes. “Ha. Very funny.”

“No, seriously. You will do it.”

“I will not -” She fires accidentally, the screen flashes and I burst out laughing.

“Unbelievable.” I say between laughs. “Five seconds in and you’ve already committed war crimes.”

“Oh my god, shut up.” She groans, shoving my shoulder, but her cheeks flush with laughter too.

We start small. I show her how to move, aim, reload and switch weapons. She’s clumsy at first - walking straight into walls, forgetting which button crouches - but she’s determined, tongue poking out slightly every time she focuses. It’s adorable.

“You’re thinking too much.” I tell her, adjusting her hand on the controller. “Relax. Let it flow.”

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Battlefield Expert.”

“I’ve trained for this my whole life.”

“Wow.” She deadpans. “Your parents must be so proud.”

“Hey, they raised a winner.”

“More like a nerd.”

I grin. “Your nerd.”

She tries not to smile, but fails.

Once she gets the hang of it, we join an online match. The sound of gunfire fills the room and she instantly panics. “They’re everywhere!”

“Yeah, it’s a war, love.”

“I hate this already!”

“Then why are you smiling?”

She glares at me but keeps going - ducking behind cover, reviving me when I fall, shouting “I got one!” like a kid who just discovered candy. I can’t stop laughing. Watching her get so into it is better than any game I’ve ever played.

“Okay, I think you’re ready.” I say. “Now just try to-”

She snipes someone clean across the map. Headshot.

I blink. “What the - how did you -”

She gasps and starts laughing. “I don’t know! I just pressed something!”

“That was insane!”

“Did I win?”

“It’s not even close to over!”

She’s glowing now, focused and fired up. Every few minutes she yells “Got him!” or “I’m unstoppable!” and I can’t even tease her because she’s actually good. Scarily good.

When the match finally ends, the leaderboard pops up. Her name - {{user}}_princess - sits proudly on top. Most kills. Most revives. Most chaos.

I stare at the screen. “That’s rigged.”

She gasps in mock offense. “Excuse me? Did you just accuse me of cheating?”

“I’m saying there’s no way you’re better than me already.”

“Facts don’t lie, babe.” She points at the screen. “See that? Number one. Me.”

I groan, running a hand through my hair. “You’re never going to shut up about this, are you?”

“Not a chance.” She grins wide, scooting closer. “Guess I’m just a natural.”

“Or maybe I’m just a really good teacher.”

“Sure.” She says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Keep telling yourself that.”

I lunge at her before she can move, tossing the controller aside and pulling her into my lap. She squeals, laughing, as I tickle her sides.

“Say it.” I demand, grinning. “Say I’m still the master.”

“Never!” She laughs, squirming.

I press a kiss to her neck, still laughing. “Fine. But tomorrow, rematch. I’m taking my crown back.”

She turns, eyes bright, lips curved into a smug little smile. “You can try. But I think I just became the queen of Battlefield.”

I shake my head, pretending to groan - but honestly, I’ve never been more proud of losing in my life.