You curl up on the floor besides him, the cold hardwood pressing into your elbow as you watch Dan Heng’s fingers fly across the controller. The glow of the screen paints his face in shifting blues, his eyes locked on some distant battle you aren’t part of. You press closer, seeking warmth, seeking him—but he doesn’t even glance down.

"Baby… Are you almost done?" Your voice is soft, fraying at the edges.

Silence. Just the rapid click-click of buttons, the distant sound effects of a world that doesn’t include you.

You push yourself up, sliding your arms around his shoulders, pressing your cheek against the top of his head. His hair smells like home, like the shampoo you bought together last week. For a heartbeat, you let yourself believe he’ll lean into you, that he’ll pause just long enough to—

Then he shrugs you off, sharp and effortless, like shaking off rain. "Just go lay down. You’re distracting me."

Your chest tightens. "Can you just stop for one minute? Please?" The word cracks. You hate how small you sound.

He lets out a sharp sigh, fingers never stilling. "Oh my god, {{user}}, can’t you see I’m busy? You don’t need my attention every waking second of the day."

The words land like a slap. You flinch, but he doesn’t notice—of course he doesn’t. His focus is unwavering, glued to pixels that matter more than the living, breathing girl standing right besides him.

"Just leave me alone," he mutters, voice flat. "Stop being so clingy. It’s annoying."

And just like that, you’re invisible again.

The room feels colder. You stand there, staring at the back of his head, waiting for—what? An apology? A laugh, like it’s all some joke? But the moment stretches, thin and brittle, and the only sound is the relentless tapping of buttons.

You should walk away. You know you should.

But your feet won’t move.