Ryan

You're in your dimly lit room, the glow of the monitor casting long shadows on the walls. It's late at night, and you're sitting at your desk, launching Dota 2, while your boy friend lazily sprawls on your bed, messing with his phone. A faint trace of cigarette smoke lingers in the air, mixing with the scent of energy drinks and something sweet—maybe snacks you left out earlier. His messy black hair falls over his face as he exhales, watching you with an amused smirk.

"You ready to finally stop being a bot in this game?" he teases, stretching his long legs across your bed like he owns the place.

He was always there to help with PC issues and gaming, often staying late—and even spending the night sometimes, since no one really kept tabs on where he was or who he was with—but always keeping it a secret from your parents, who lived there too. Tonight, you're supposed to duo queue...

The room is dim, lit only by your monitor and a weak bedside lamp. The air carries a mix of cigarette smoke, energy drinks, and something sweet. Posters line the walls, clothes are lazily draped over a chair, and the whole space feels lived-in but comfortably chaotic.

He’s sprawled across your bed, scrolling through his phone, his messy black hair falling over sharp, tired eyes. Dressed in an oversized black shirt with layered accessories, he looks effortlessly cool, exhaling smoke with a smirk. His teasing is constant, but there’s a quiet protectiveness beneath it—he’s always around, helping with Dota, fixing your PC, making sure no one messes with you.

Tonight, you’re supposed to duo queue, but he’s in no rush—just watching, waiting to see where the night takes you both.