So my weekends are simple: subway rides, takeout, my apartment, video games, and my usual private downtime. Always the same, always enough.
Franklin stops in the doorway of the server room. “Greg! It’s Friday, good sir. Don’t stay too late,” he says, that calm, reassuring smile I’ve come to respect. “Enjoy your weekend. You deserve it.”
I nod, not entirely sure what to say. “Thanks, Mr. Frost.”
It hits me harder than it should. A reminder that someone cares, even in a small, corporate way. He leads BR, so it’s kind of his job, but comforting all the same.
I head home, already thinking about the two full days ahead—just me, alone. My apartment’s a small one-bedroom, a quiet sanctuary about a mile and a half from Labyrinth Solutions. Sure, I could walk, but I usually take the subway. I love the soft clatter of wheels on tracks, the occasional echoing announcement, the way the train rattles beneath the city like it knows a secret. The motionclears my head, letting the city fade while I sink into my own thoughts.
By the time I reach my building, the ache in my shoulders has eased. The familiar creak of the front door greets me, followed by the faint whir of my computer’s standby mode. Posters of video games line the walls, and my shelves are heavy with fantasy novels, manuals, collectible figurines, and a half-assembled drone I’ve been tinkering with. My desk is a shrine to tech—dual oversized monitors, a custom mechanical keyboard, cords arranged in chaotic perfection. LED strips cast soft blues and purples across the room, washing everything in a gentle glow.
Shoes off. Takeout boxes balanced precariously on the arm of the couch. Once I discovered Ogre Oven’s pizza, it became a staple. Two pies because even though I could probably make one work, I’ll most likely dig into the second and have a few slices leftover. I take a seat at my desk, fire up my favorite RPG, and slip into my character, a soldier named—wait for it—Greg, known for his daring feats and quick wit. After the load screen, my party appears. There’s Lady Bryn, our fearless mage, and Phinneas, the archer. Then Kael appears on screen. Kael Veyr—the rogue with the smirk and sharp quips. He’s my favorite, and, of course, he reminds me of Sean in too many ways. That same swoop of blond hair, sarcastic, impossible not to notice.
I glance at my phone. My thumb hovers over Sean’s contact. I’ll just send a quick text.
Sent. Done.
To my surprise, he replies. Not annoyed, not distant—not the usual curt, borderline-grumpy response I expect from Sean—but… curious. A tiny spark in his words makes me stop mid-scroll.
He texts me again, something sassy:Get a hobby. I bite my lip and reply, careful, deliberate:I have one, making sure you’re okay.
He doesn’t respond. And for a moment, I panic—did I push too far? Did I cross some invisible line? But then he hearts the message. A heart. From him. A shiver runs through me.
My mate sent me a heart.
The thought hits me like a pulse in my chest, deep and insistent. Is he really… my mate? I’ve felt something all week—something that makes little sense. I close my eyes, and the sensation washes over me. That pull. That connection. It’s faint but undeniable, like a thread stretching tight between us, vibrating with possibility. It’s the only explanation for why I can sense he’s close to a meltdown from three hallways away. My pulse accelerates. My stomach twists in a way that I’ve never felt in all my thirty-seven years.
I try to rationalize it—maybe it’s just the thrill of the chase, the flirting, the novelty. But deep down, I know it’s something more. Something primal. Something that has nothing to do with games or tech or my carefully controlled life.
There’s something about him. Only him. Only Sean. My pulse hammers. My chest knots. My mind swirls with questions I don’t yet have answers to.
I feel it deep in my core.
I shake my head and return to my video game. To Kael.
Ignoring the rest of the party, I chat with Kael like he’s real. I tease, I flirt, I push the conversation, hoping he notices, hoping he responds. Every line of dialogue, every imagined reaction, makes my head spin. My pulse sharpens in my ears. My cheeks warm.
I lean back in my gaming chair, muttering to myself as I type. “Honestly, Kael, you’d be insufferable if you weren’t brilliant.”
He smirks in my mind’s eye. I imagine Sean’s mouth smirking the same way, leaning over a desk, eyebrows raised.
Hours pass. I eat the first pizza, stand to stretch, but mostly I stay in this world where fantasy and reality blur, where the person I can’t stop thinking about exists just out of reach. I talk aloud to Kael, soft and low, imagining Sean hearing it, responding, teasing me back. The game becomes a stage for what I want, what I’m afraid to say out loud in the real world.
I pace a little, lean closer to the monitor, grab two slices from the second pizza and stack them. My mind spins with scenarios: casual touches, stolen glances, laughter at my silly jokes. I imagine Sean noticing me, really noticing me, beyond IT support, beyond the office, the smile he flashes when he thinks no one’s watching.
The apartment is quiet except for the purr of the PC, the soft clatter of the keyboard, my voice filling the air with quiet, muttered flirtation. I’m grinning likea dork, flushed, tense, alive in a way I don’t get during the workweek.
Kael: Late night, soldier? You sure you’re not just avoiding the tavern again?
I smirk at the screen. “Avoiding loud NPCs and their bad music, thank you very much.”
Kael: Hah! You and I both know you’d rather spar with a boss than drink with bards. Admit it.
I type back quickly, fingers flying. “And you’d rather sit here taunting me than actually help me on this quest.”
Kael: Only if you make it worth my while.
I pause, my pulse spiking. Worth his while? Worth my while? I imagine Sean saying that, sitting in his chair, letting me lean on him as I check his computer. Heat rises to my ears. My pulse flares, and I have to rub my temples. I chuckle softly. “Keep talking, Veyr. You’re warming up.”
