Tangled Strings
541 Words
The raid went flawlessly. Though Ezra never used voice chat, his gameplay was surgical—tanking, DPS, flawless mechanics. In ten minutes, the nightmare-difficulty dungeon fell.
As victory flashed, Yvonne's bubble tea arrived.
She tossed her headset, thumping downstairs in duck slippers. The great room blazed with light. Sebastian sat rigid before his MacBook, documents stacked like battlements. Hearing her footsteps, he glanced up, voice sandpaper-rough:
"Where to?"
Yvonne dashed past, flung the door open, grabbed the delivery, and slammed it shut against the chill. "Boba run," she called, brandishing the bag.
"Again?" Sebastian's voice spiked. He pinched the bridge of his nose, restraint warring with concern. "How many times must I say? Midnight sugar bombs wreck your circadian rhythm."
"Not your business." She breezed by, deliberately eyeing his screen—spreadsheets dense with financial jargon. Snore.
The taro milk tea warmed her palms. Sebastian watched her disappear upstairs, exhaling only when her door clicked. He pulled his phone from the document pile—Realm of Titansstill glowing—and studied two dossiers beneath:
EZRA ZAYNEand AARON LOCKWOOD.
Sweet Distractions
Yvonne stabbed the paper straw through the seal. Heaven in a cup—taro paste, tapioca pearls, and coconut jelly dancing on her tongue.
Ezra's game invites exploded across her screen:
Sis! Duos?
Weekly raids done yet?
Ignoring meeee?
...Mmm, ah... hah...(voice memo)
The last notification—moanedinto existence—made her roll her eyes. She accepted his invite. "Sorry, grabbing boba."
"Boba? That place I showed you?"
"Mhm."
"Good?"
"Solid."
Ezra's delighted laugh fizzed through her headset. Feeling playful, she prodded: "No 6AM call time tomorrow? Daredevil."
"Worth losing sleep for you," he purred, even as his character landed a lethal headshot mid-sentence. "Impressed, Sis?"
"Very."
"Praise me—" The words stretched like taffy, sweet and sticky.
Yvonne could picture him: sprawled on some designer rug, probably wearing that ridiculous lace-trimmed outfit she'd bought as a joke.
"Actually..." His voice dropped, velvet-dark. "I'm wearing the maid apron right now. Want proof?"
She heard the snickof a clip fastening, then a sharp gasp. Pleasure-pain, perfectly choreographed.
Checkmate
They racked up wins, banter thickening like the tea in her cup. Ezra fought like he flirted—all flashy combos and ruthless efficiency. When Yvonne's character fell to a cheap shot, his voice turned to ice:
"Pathetic hitbox design."
Two moves later, his rogue eviscerated the opponent. "Victory" blazed across her screen.
"Sogood," Yvonne murmured.
She felt his preen through the headset. "Anything for my favorite viewer~"
Midnight Realities
The wall clock read 1:17 AM. Empty cup. Empty stamina bar. Yvonne quit the party. "You've got rehearsals, Ezra. Bed. Now."
"But Sis—" He spammed her DMs with maid-outfit selfies: lace choker, thigh highs, pouty lips.
Her tone iced over. "Now."
Instantly obedient: "Yes, Ma'am!" Then, sugar-rush relapse: "Kisses! Sleep tight, princess!" Mwah!
Alone at last, Yvonne sank into her duvet. Three missed calls from Aaron glowed on her silenced phone. She hit callback.
"Aaron?"
"Still awake?" His voice frayed at the edges.
"Wide open."
"...Talk me down?" The request trembled—a crack in his porcelain calm.
- Writer
