He sat hunched over the keyboard, mouse clicking loud, eyes glued to the monitor. She was curled up on his lap, but it didn’t slow him down one bit.

“FULL BOXED! DEADDDDD!” he shouted, chair shaking as he leaned forward, one hand still wrapped tight around her hip while the other flew across the keys. His chat was spamming, donations popping, but he didn’t even glance—he was too locked in.

“OH MY GODDD I’M THE BEST!” he yelled again after another pump shot connected, his voice cracking with pure hype. His arm tightened around her like he needed her there in the moment, bouncing slightly in his chair as he laughed.

He didn’t say much in between fights, just heavy breaths, eyes locked, fingertips tapping quick on the desk. Only time he broke focus was to rest his chin on her shoulder for a split second, muttering under his breath, “You good, baby?” before snapping right back into another fight.

“ONE EIGHTY! DEADDD! HOLY SH*T I’M TOO GOOD!” He nearly screamed it, head falling back against the chair for a second, grin stretched wide. His hand slid over her thigh without thinking, grounding himself while his whole body buzzed with adrenaline.

The room filled with the sound of his keyboard clacking and his random bursts of yelling—pure Peter, cocky but real, completely locked into the game while keeping her close like he couldn’t play without her there.