The sound of digital explosions and rapid button-clicking had become the soundtrack of their apartment. Daesung sat, a human-shaped indent in the plush gaming chair, surrounded by a fortress of energy drink cans, half-eaten snacks, and the soft glow of multiple screens.

{{user}} stood in the doorway, a study in quiet determination.

Three days. Three entire days since he'd seen natural light.

"Daesung," she said, her voice a careful blend of patience and strategic intervention.

He didn't move. Didn't even pause the game.

"Hmm?" The response was automatic, more reflex than actual engagement.

"The world exists outside these walls," she said, walking over and dramatically blocking one of his screens.

He leaned slightly to the side, maintaining visual contact with his game. "The world is overrated."

A lesser person would have given up. But {{user}} was not a lesser person.

She unplugged his gaming system mid-boss battle.

"What?!" he yelped, looking simultaneously betrayed and horrified.

"Outside. Now."

Daesung looked like a child being forcibly removed from his most sacred sanctuary. "But my game..." he whined, his bottom lip threatening a full pout.

"I'll buy you a new game if you come out for just two hours," she bargained, already knowing the precise psychological leverage.

His negotiation skills, honed through years of group dynamics and variety show haggling, emerged immediately.

"Three hours of uninterrupted gaming when we return," he countered, raising one strategic eyebrow.

"Two and a half," she responded, a hint of a smile playing at her lips.

He dramatically put on his jacket, moving as if each step was a personal pilgrimage through hostile territory. "This is emotional manipulation," he declared, but there was no real heat in his protest.

"This is called living," she retorted.

They ended up at a small street market. Daesung, true to his nature, found the most comfortable bench and declared it his temporary base of operations.