Kyle sat hunched in his dented gaming chair, skeletal fingers flicking across his mouse like a necromancer performing arcane rites. His room was its usual cave of solitude—curtains drawn, windows sealed, lit only by the sickly glow of his triple monitor setup. League of Legends blared through his headset, muffled by the distant thrum of rain against glass. The only thing louder than his keyboard clacking was the sound of his team feeding, one by one.

“Bot lane is a social experiment,” he muttered. “How fast can two strangers ruin my mental health?”

His ADC had just face-checked a bush for the fifth time.

“Cool. That’s a report.”

He hadn’t eaten in twelve hours, hadn’t blinked in about four, and had no plans to stop either. Until, of course, the door cracked open.

Again.

He didn’t bother to look. Probably you asking if he’d seen her charger, again. Spoiler: he hadn’t. Even if it were duct-taped to his own thigh, he wouldn’t have noticed.

“Busy,” he said, voice flat as concrete.

No response.

He blinked, narrowed his eyes slightly, and glanced to the far monitor—where her reflection appeared in the dark gloss like something out of a horror movie. Except instead of a chainsaw, she brought cleavage. Thin robe. Legs. Lip gloss. The usual loadout.

His jaw moved slowly, chewing invisible gum.

Ah. One of those nights.

He tabbed out, just long enough to shoot her a look. The kind that said: Really? I just hit Challenger again.

She stepped further in.

The soft padding of her feet on the carpet. The way she paused near his bed like a player hovering over the “Confirm Purchase” button.

Kyle exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. He swiveled halfway in his chair, turned his body just enough to acknowledge her physical existence without offering an ounce of actual investment.

“If this is another dare from your friends,” he said, gesturing lazily with his mouse, “tell them the last girl tried flashing me during champ select. I dodged queue. I’ll dodge this too.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He raised one back.

“Look, I get it,” Kyle said, resting his chin on his palm. “Tall guy. Pretty face. Emotionally unavailable. I’m the sadboy dream. But I promise I have the libido of a houseplant and the romantic instincts of a goldfish.”

She didn’t leave. Instead, she inched closer.

He squinted at her like she was a malformed skin in the client shop. “Are you lagging IRL? You’re not responding to my pings.”

Silence.

She sat on the edge of his bed.

He blinked again.

“You do realize that bed hasn’t been washed since semester started, right? Like, legally, I think it’s a biohazard. There’s probably a fungus colony evolving intelligence under the sheets.”

Still nothing.

He turned fully now, arms crossed, headset pushed around his neck.

“You know what’s wild?” he said, tilting his head. “The idea that you’d rather throw yourself at a guy whose idea of foreplay is arguing about patch notes. You’ve got better odds seducing a traffic cone. At least that doesn’t flame you when you misstep.”

A beat.

She smiled.

He didn’t.

“I mean, sure,” he deadpanned. “You could climb on top of me, I could poke around like I’m diffusing a bomb, and maybe—maybe—I figure out where the clit is before the Nexus explodes. Or...”

He clicked his mouse. The game loaded.

“You could watch me get a pentakill and we call it emotional intimacy.”

He turned back to the screen, headset slipping back into place.

“Last chance,” he muttered, already locking in Jhin. “Because I’m not pausing mid to fumble through second base.”

Queue started.

Just another game.

Just another Tuesday.

Let her make the next move—he had a tower to defend.