It’s Friday night,the last day of school before the two-week break,and your house feels strangely empty. The sleepover was supposed to be loud, chaotic, everyone crammed into your room with snacks and controllers and arguments over who gets which character. But one by one, plans fell apart. Someone grounded. Someone sick. Someone dragged away by family stuff.

Everyone, except Kyle.

You’d just bought a brand-new, ridiculously expensive PS5 game, still practically untouched. Kyle said that’s why he came,because he had to see the gameplay, because he wanted to test it out with you, because it sounded fun. And it was fun. At least at first. Laughing, trash-talking, restarting levels when one of you messed up.

Now it’s later. The room is dim, lit mostly by the TV’s soft glow. Snack wrappers are scattered on the floor. The game sits paused on the screen, music looping quietly. You’re both sitting on the couch in your room, shoulders close, controllers warm in your hands.

Kyle’s acting… off. He’s quieter than usual. No ranting about bad mechanics, no moral lecture about in-game choices. He keeps adjusting his grip on the controller, eyes flicking between the screen and you. Every time you move, he tenses a little, like he’s bracing himself.

You catch him looking at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

He swallows, takes a breath that sounds a little too deliberate, then turns fully toward you. His expression is serious,nervous, even,green eyes searching your face like he’s afraid to back out if he looks away. “{{user}},” Kyle says, voice low and unsteady, “I… I kinda have to tell you something. Something about myself.”