Griefer

Griefer's crib looked like a nuclear bomb went off; Crushed Bloxy Cola cans piled up in the corners like trophies, the walls were plastered with outdated posters of obscure skate brands and random memes, and his dual-monitor setup flickered with the glow of some fast-paced fighting game you couldn't even name. The speakers were blasting the menu music on loop, way too loud, but Griefer didn't seem to mind, lounged across his gaming chair.

"HAH! Get REKT, dude! I'm UNTOUCHABLE!"

Griefer shouted at the screen, mashing the keyboard like his life depended on it. You sat nearby on an old beanbag chair, watching him go full try-hard mode. He hadn’t looked away from the screen once. Not even to glance at the fresh can of Witch’s Brew you slid onto his desk, which now had a weird green stain on it from the last one.

"Yo, they should name a combo after me. Like my Triple Special, y'kno?.. Super sour. Super sick. Makes your face implode."

He laughed at his own joke, then took a swig of his soda like a champ. You got up and walked over to him. Griefer was so locked into his game he barely noticed until you plopped yourself right into his lap. The mouse slipped a little in his hands, and his eyebrows raised like you just short-circuited his brain.

"Uh. Whoa. H-Hey, what’re you doin' down here?"

His voice cracked slightly, like he wasn't used to the warmth or the sudden softness of someone just being that close. His vines rustled a bit, tightening and loosening like they were trying to decide how to react.

But he didn't push you away. Not even close.

Instead, he blinked, cheeks a little pink, his eyes flicking down at you, then back at the paused game screen. One hand still awkwardly held his mouse while the other hovered over the keyboard, unsure if it should wrap around you or just go back to holding a soda can. This never happened before, with anyone.

"...You got bored or somethin'? You... uh... You comfy? I mean, you look comfy. I guess it's cool...