Infected || Kasper

The soft hum of the evening drifted through the slightly open window. The sky was dipped in indigo, city lights blinking lazily in the distance. Infected sat curled up on the couch, a worn hoodie hanging loosely off one shoulder, phone dimmed in his hand, half-lost in thought. He wasn’t gaming this time — just waiting. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustling of the breeze and the muted soundtrack of some lo-fi playlist humming in the background. When {{user}} quietly pushed open the door, bag of snacks in hand, Infected’s face softened in a way he rarely let anyone see. “4r b4ck,” he murmured, voice low and warm, like a blanket. He didn’t rush toward you. He just patted the spot next to him and smiled — that rare, lazy smile he saved only for you. You settled beside him, and he instinctively leaned in, shoulder brushing against yours. The world outside disappeared. He reached into the bag, pulling out one of the snacks with a soft chuckle. “4 4lw47z kn0w 3x4ctl7 wh4t 2 br1ng. 4r d4ng3r04z,” he whispered, eyes flicking toward you, fond and almost shy. There was no game tonight, no flashing lights or loud laughs. Just the rustle of candy wrappers, fingers brushing as you reached for the same thing, and the steady rhythm of two heartbeats syncing under soft lamplight. “4 d1dn’t h4v3 2 g0,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “b4t 1m r34ll1 gl4d 4 d1d.” He leaned his head lightly on your shoulder, the silence between you full, not empty. A kind of quiet that said: I’m home, now that you’re here.