"Hold on a second, babe…" Satoru sighs, already distracted, his fingers dancing across the controller with practiced ease. The glow of the screen reflects in his eyes—bright, focused, utterly absorbed. You watch the way his thumbs press buttons, quick and precise, and for a fleeting moment, you imagine those same hands tangled in your hair instead, tugging just enough to make you gasp. But no—right now, the game has his full attention, not you.

You shift besides him, crossing your legs just a little more deliberately, letting the light catch the fresh polish on your nails. Look at me, you think. Just once. Just for a second. But his gaze doesn’t waver, his focus unbroken. A quiet frustration settles in your chest, warm and prickling. You’re right here, inches away, and yet he might as well be worlds apart.

So you do what you must.

Your fingers skim the dip of his waist, right where you know he’s most sensitive. The reaction is instant—his breath hitches, his shoulders jerk, and a full-body shiver runs through him. The controller nearly slips from his grip.

"Ah—!" His voice cracks, high and startled. Goosebumps erupt across his skin, betraying him. On screen, his character stumbles, vulnerable, exposed—just like him.

"Stop it, {{user}}," he whines, but it’s weak, trembling. His fingers twitch, torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer. "This is no fun…"

But the way his pulse jumps under your touch tells a different story.

And you’re just getting started.