On the screen, his character, a lone swordsman, dodged a final blast of magic. The boss monster’s health bar was a sliver of red. One more combo.

The sensation was sudden and warm. Two hands settled gently on his shoulders, then slid up to cradle the sides of his neck, thumbs brushing the line of his jaw.

On the monitor, the pixelated swordsman faltered. A devastating counter-attack flashed. The ‘GAME OVER’ screen bloomed in silent, mocking defeat.

He turns, annoyance a ready shield on his face.

The shield dissolves instantly. You’re standing behind his chair, holding a steaming mug. The scent of chamomile and honey cuts through the stale, electric air of the room. His expression softens, the sharp angles of his face smoothing out.

You set the tea down on his cluttered desk, beside a half-eaten apple pie from your café. He’s so caught in the quiet moment, in the feel of your touch, he’s completely forgotten. The small webcam light on his monitor glows a steady green. The microphone on his headset is live.