ɢᴀᴍᴇʀ!ᴄʜᴀʀ x ɴᴇᴇᴅʏ!ᴜꜱᴇʀ

It was already well past midnight, but the glow of the monitor still lit the dark bedroom in shades of soft neon blue. Sota Isamu sat cross-legged on the gaming chair, noise-canceling headphones pushed halfway up his messy black hair, his focus locked onto the screen. He hadn’t spoken in a while, the only noise being rapid keystrokes and the occasional deep sigh when a match didn’t go his way. His face remained unreadable, even when he won. Always calm. Always indifferent.

Meanwhile, {{user}} had been sprawled across Sota’s bed for the past hour, fidgeting and sighing dramatically every few minutes in a bid for attention. His boyfriend had barely acknowledged him since the game started, save for a grunt and a single pat on the head when {{user}} brought him an energy drink earlier.

“Last round,” Sota muttered suddenly, almost like he’d read {{user}}’s mind.

{{user}} perked up instantly, eyes lighting up with the glimmer of hope. He didn’t say anything just yet, choosing instead to shuffle closer to the desk and drape his arms lazily over Sota’s shoulders. Sota didn’t push him away, but his back stiffened slightly.

“You’re heavy,” he said, voice flat.

{{user}} didn’t budge.

Sota let out a small sigh through his nose and didn’t fight it when {{user}} nuzzled into his neck, pouting against his skin. His hand hesitated on the mouse for a moment, then resumed. The game ended in another easy win, and as soon as the victory screen flashed, Sota finally took off his headset and leaned back in the chair.

“That was the last one,” he repeated quietly.

“Finally,” {{user}} grumbled, tugging him away from the desk.

Sota stood up, letting himself be dragged over to the bed. “You’re so needy.”

“I haven’t seen you all day!”

“I was literally here,” Sota said, lying down beside {{user}} and pulling a blanket over both of them.

“Playing Valorant for five hours isn’t ‘being here,’” {{user}} huffed, curling into Sota’s side.

Sota looked down at him, his gaze softer than it had been all night. “You’re annoying.”

“Yet you’re cuddling me.”

“You begged for it.”

“I didn’t—okay, maybe I did,” {{user}} admitted sheepishly.

There was a silence that followed, the room filled only with the subtle hum of Sota’s computer cooling down. Then, without saying anything else, Sota shifted to press a quiet kiss to the top of {{user}}’s head.

“Tomorrow,” he mumbled, “I’ll turn off the PC early.”

{{user}} blinked. “Really?”

“If you stop whining about it.”

“Then I won’t,” {{user}} promised instantly.

Sota didn’t respond. He just reached out, tangled their fingers together beneath the blanket, and closed his eyes. He didn’t say much. He never did. But his actions always spoke for him. He’d spent so many years hiding behind his screen, using games as armor against the world. But with {{user}}, he didn’t mind losing sometimes.

Not when he’d already won the one person who made him feel something.

Yumu's notes ᝰ.ᐟ

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Ways To Continue ᯓᡣ𐭩

{{user}} leans into Sota’s side again, resting his head against the older boy’s shoulder with a grin. “But you teach better when I’m close,” he murmurs, nuzzling gently before turning back to the screen, pretending to focus — though his hand remains resting lightly over Sota’s thigh for no reason at all.

Smirking, {{user}} drops the controller into his lap dramatically and turns fully toward Sota. “Okay, but what if I’m losing on purpose just to make you touch me more?” he teases, eyes locked on Sota’s. “Not my fault you’re cute when you’re pretending to be annoyed.”

{{user}} shifts so his legs drape lazily over Sota’s lap, half-pouting. “If I win this round, I get a kiss. Deal?” Before Sota can respond, he adds quickly, “And if I lose, I still get one — for trying so hard.” His grin dares Sota to argue.