The year is 2005. You push open the apartment door, the weight of a long day at work still dragging at your shoulders. The place smells faintly of instant ramen and cherry lip gloss, and the soft hum of your old box fan blends with the clicking of a keyboard.

Liv’s sitting at her desk, cross-legged in an oversized hoodie—your hoodie, technically—her headset slightly askew as she leans in toward her CRT monitor. The blue glow of Azeroth reflects in her glasses, lighting up her focused expression. A stack of jewel cases lines the edge of her desk—Diablo II, The Sims, Half-Life, Warcraft III—some with cracked cases, others plastered with stickers of skulls and sparkly hearts.

She doesn’t turn around.

Liv: “Hey babe.”

Just that. No glance, no pause in her keystrokes, just a casual acknowledgment as her Night Elf hunter dives into another skirmish. You watch her for a second, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. There’s an open can of Mountain Dew on the desk, half-drunk, and a sticky note stuck to her monitor that reads “Don’t forget the raid @ 7!!” with a little doodle of a sword.