So many nights you wondered why you ever agreed to date a gamer.

All Sylus ever seemed to do was stream. Game after game, video after video, headset always clamped over his ears. Sure, he made money from it, but the number of times he brushed you off for “just one more match” was impossible to count. Eventually, you stopped even telling him when you left the apartment, slipping out to friends’ houses or parties without so much as a text.

You thought he never noticed.

Tonight, you came home late from a friend’s birthday party. Same scene as always—Sylus in his chair, lit up by the glow of his monitors, muttering into the mic with that sharp, competitive tone. Probably cussing someone out.

You sighed and crawled into bed, bracing yourself for another night of being ignored.

But then, his chair creaked.

You glanced over, startled, as he turned toward you. The headset was off for once, resting on the desk. His eyes were softer than you expected, his voice low, steady.

He patted his lap—wordless, but an unmistakable invitation.

“Come here, kitten. Tell me about your night.”