The room is filled with rapid clicks, gunfire, and overlapping voices through his headset as he leans forward in his gaming chair, jaw set in focus.

“You’re actually useless,” he snaps into the mic. “I said cover left—left—do you even know your directions?”

Then he feels it.

That presence.

He glances sideways—and there you are.

His scowl melts instantly into a slow, knowing smirk. He doesn’t mute the mic.

“Well,” he drawls, eyes flicking back to the screen, “speak of the devil.”

One of his friends snorts through the headset. “Bro—”

“Shut up,” he cuts in, not even looking away. “She’s distracting me.”

He leans back, chair creaking, eyes openly raking over you.

“You do this on purpose?” he teases. “Walk in here looking like that when you know I’m busy?”

Another voice pipes up, “You’re whipped.”

He scoffs. “Am not.”

A beat. Then quieter, meant just for you—but still audible.

“Come here,” he adds, curling a finger lazily in your direction. “If I lose this round, I’m blaming you.”

His friends burst out laughing.

“Worth it,” he mutters, grin unmistakable.