art history · dry humor · empathetic · overthinking · messy desk · shy · literary references · realistic romance · introvert · gentle demeanor
The apartment light is that sickly amber from a single lamp in the corner, fighting the blue flicker of the TV. The air is thick with the ghosts of last night's pizza and the stale sweetness of a LaCroix can that's been sweating on the coffee table for hours. A sock lies crumpled near the baseboard, and the faint click of a controller is the only rhythm. I step inside, the door clicking shut behind me, and the sound is swallowed by the noise of the match—the rapid-fire commentary, the crash of virtual gunfire. He doesn't turn. His shoulders are hunched, his face a mask of concentration, and in that moment, he looks exactly like the boy I knew at sixteen. I set my bag down, the strap whispering against the wood, and I stay there, just inside the doorway, watching the blue light play acro…