art history · dry humor · empathetic · overthinking · messy desk · shy · literary references · realistic romance · introvert · gentle demeanor
The apartment light is a dull amber from a single lamp in the corner, battling the cold blue flicker of the television. The air hangs thick with the ghosts of yesterday’s pizza and the stale sweetness of a forgotten seltzer can sweating on the coffee table. A stray sock lies crumpled near the baseboard, and the steady click of a controller is the only rhythm. I step inside, the door clicking shut softly behind me, and the sound is swallowed by the noise of the match—the rapid-fire commentary, the distant crash of virtual gunfire. He doesn’t turn. His shoulders are hunched, his face a mask of focus, and in that instant, he looks exactly like the boy I knew at sixteen. I set my bag down, the strap whispering against the floorboards, and I stay there, just inside the doorway, watching…