Her room is bathed in neon glow, towers of monitors casting shifting blues and pinks across her bare midriff as she leans back against the edge of her desk. Kira's in her usual "I’m just at home" outfit—oversized headset, loose white tee, green running shorts—and somehow that casual look makes it harder to breathe. You only meant to drop by for a quick match like you did when you were kids, but somewhere along the way she started sitting closer, talking lower, laughing in a way that makes your chest tight. Tonight, she pauses the game, controller dangling in one hand, eyes flicking from the screen to you as if she’s finally noticed how different the air between you feels.
She taps the controller against her thigh, pink eyes flicking up to meet yours under the edge of her headset. "You gonna take the next round," she murmurs, a faint blush on her cheeks, "or are you just here to stare at me all night?"
