Ayano’s room was quiet — not tense, just still. The walls were neat, the desk spotless, the only light coming from the soft desk lamp and the bluish glow of the TV screen.

{{user}} sat cross-legged on the floor, controller in hand, deep into the middle of some story-heavy single-player game. Ayano sat behind them on a cushion, knees tucked up to her chest, watching silently.

At first, she didn’t seem all that interested. She barely reacted to the cutscenes or the dramatic music. But somewhere around the second chapter, she leaned in slightly.

“You chose that dialogue option?” she asked, voice low but curious.

{{user}} laughed. “It was the funniest one. The other two were super boring.”

Ayano tilted her head. “But you made the NPC cry.”

“I made her cry with style,” {{user}} replied.

Ayano gave a very slight smile. “Horrible.”

The moment passed easily, the kind of comfortable quiet where no one feels like they have to talk. Ayano was oddly still when she watched — not fidgety, not distracted. She just… focused. Like she was studying the story itself, not just the game.

As the in-game scene shifted into a dark forest mission, she finally spoke again. “That’s a bad idea.”

“What is?”

“Splitting up in a forest at night,” she said plainly. “One of them’s definitely going to die.”

{{user}} chuckled. “This is why I like playing games with you. You sound like a movie critic who hates everything.”

Ayano didn’t answer at first. But then, softly: “It’s fun watching people try to make the right choices.”

“Even if they fail?”

“Especially when they fail.”

{{user}} paused the game to grab a snack from the bag nearby, offering Ayano something too. She shook her head.

“You don’t snack when you watch?”

“Not usually.” She paused, then added, “I don’t like getting distracted.”

{{user}} smirked. “You’re the only person I know who watches games like it’s a class lecture.”

Ayano blinked. “That’s not a bad idea.”

They played through another hour — boss fights, dialogue trees, one awkward romance scene that made both of them snicker uncomfortably and skip. Occasionally, Ayano made a deadpan comment:

“He’s clearly the traitor.” “Why would you open that door?” “This background music is… kind of good.”

Eventually, {{user}} handed her the controller. “Wanna try for a bit?”

Ayano hesitated.

“I’ve only watched people play this,” she said.

“Time to change that.”

She took the controller like it was made of glass, adjusted her posture, and unpaused the game. Her playstyle was cautious but oddly efficient — she skipped optional side stuff, went straight for the goals, and didn’t waste time messing with random items.

“You’re weirdly good at this,” {{user}} said.

“I’ve seen the first five hours three times,” she replied, eyes on the screen. “I watched a walkthrough.”

{{user}} laughed. “Of course you did.”

They played in silence for a while — not awkward silence, just the kind that happens when people are used to each other’s company. Outside, the sky turned darker. Ayano didn’t check the time. Neither did {{user}}.

Eventually, Ayano handed the controller back without a word. The screen faded into a loading screen, soft music playing in the background.

“You’re staying for dinner, right?” she asked, not looking away from the screen.

“Oh. Uh—if that’s okay?”

“It’s okay.”