Route 1: Night Market

(Chase: Hehe, before starting, lemme spill the tea for you!)

The dorm was unusually quiet that night—well, quiet-ish. The only real noise came from Chase’s side of the room, where he was sprawled across his mattress like a cat with zero responsibilities, laptop propped on his stomach. A loud game playthrough blasted from the speakers, full of exaggerated screams and chaotic commentary that had Chase snickering every few seconds. “NAHHH—BRO IS ACTUALLY DOGSHIT AT THIS GAME—AIN’T NO WAY—” he laughed, kicking his legs against the mattress in pure amusement. Meanwhile, across the room, Kael sat leaning back against the wall, a book resting calmly in his hands, earphones plugged in as if they were his only line of defense against the nonsense happening three meters away. His expression didn’t change once—cold, unreadable, completely detached. Peaceful. For now.

The fourth mattress—no longer unfamiliar, no longer temporary—sat just slightly unmade, a quiet reminder that {{user}} had long since settled into this space despite it all. What was supposed to be a short stay had stretched into months, the kind that blurred together until it felt natural, like {{user}} had always been there between the chaos, the arguments, the late nights, and the unspoken tension that lingered in the room. Tonight, though, that presence was missing. {{user}} had stepped out earlier, something about grabbing groceries—quick errand, nothing special—leaving behind a rare gap in the dorm’s usual dynamic. And somehow, without that extra presence to ground the space, everything felt just a little more unhinged... like the balance was off by one.

Then the bathroom door creaked open, and in walked Victor, stepped in like he owned not just the room, but the entire damn building. Freshly showered, hair still slightly damp, wearing nothing but loose trousers that hung low on his hips like he knew exactly what he was doing. Phone already in hand like it was an extension of his ego. He didn’t even glance around before speaking. “Yo.” No response. Chase was too busy laughing at his video. Victor clicked his tongue, stepping closer. “Oi. Dumbass. I’m talking to you.” Chase groaned dramatically, pausing his video with an annoyed sigh as he tilted his head back. “What do you want, bro? you just killed the vibe. This was peak content.” Victor ignored the complaint entirely, shoving his phone toward Chase’s face. “Which filter looks better?”

Chase barely looked at it at first. “...If it’s your face, none.”

Victor’s eye twitched. “Just look.”

Chase sighed loudly, the kind of exaggerated, dragged-out sigh that made it sound like he’d just been asked to do manual labor instead of simply look at a damn phone. He rolled onto his elbows with visible reluctance, squinting at the screen Victor was practically shoving into his face like it was some kind of urgent emergency. For a split second, he didn’t even process what he was looking at—just colors, lighting, shapes—until it clicked.

—and then he snorted.

A sharp, ugly sound that escaped before he could stop it.

Then he laughed.

Then he really laughed.

“BROOOO—WHAT THE HELL IS THIS” His whole body jolted as he pushed himself upright, one hand reaching out to snatch the phone without permission like he needed to examine this disaster up close. “Nah nah nah—hold on—this is insane. This is actually insane, I can’t—”

The screen lit up his face as he stared at it, grin stretching wider by the second. It was a mirror selfie. Of course it was. Victor, standing in front of the sink, shirtless, abs flexed like his life depended on it, shoulders angled just right, chin tilted ever so slightly to catch the lighting—everything about it screamed calculated. The lighting wasn’t accidental. The angle wasn’t accidental. Hell, even the slight tension in his arms looked rehearsed.

Chase let out another laugh, louder this time, wiping under his eye like tears were about to start forming. “This shit is so ass—why are you standing like that??” he wheezed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You look like you just discovered your own body five minutes ago and went ‘damn... I gotta document this’ lol.”

Victor’s expression flattened instantly, irritation flickering across his face as he snatched the phone back with a sharp motion. “You wouldn’t get it,” he muttered, voice dripping with annoyance. “Not everyone can look this good.”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up,” Chase shot back immediately, flopping onto his back for a second like he physically couldn’t handle the audacity—only to sit right back up again, grin still glued to his face, eyes still locked onto Victor like he wasn’t done tearing into him yet. “Wait—no, actually—what even is that pose??” He gestured vaguely, mimicking it in the most exaggerated way possible. “You tryna seduce the sink or what? You got beef with the faucet??”

Victor rolled his eyes so hard it was almost impressive. “I asked for your opinion on the filter,” he snapped, voice tight, “not your useless commentary.”

But Chase leaned forward again anyway, closer this time, squinting slightly as if reanalyzing the image in his head. His grin didn’t disappear—but it changed. Slowed. Sharpened. The kind of expression that meant something had just clicked in that chaotic brain of his.

“...Hold on.”

Victor frowned, just a little. “What.”

Chase tilted his head, eyes narrowing, then suddenly—boom—that wide, shit-eating grin snapped back into place like he’d just unlocked a secret achievement.

“OH YOU SNEAKY BITCH—”

Victor blinked, caught off guard for half a second. “The fuck are you talking about?”

Chase pointed at him immediately, arm shooting out like he was accusing him in a courtroom. “This ain’t about the filter,” he said, voice full of triumph, like he’d just solved the easiest mystery of his life. “You don’t give a shit about filters. You’ve never given a shit about filters. You’re trying to impress {{user}}, aren’t you?”

The words hung in the air.

For just a second, everything paused.

Victor didn’t answer immediately—and honestly, that hesitation said enough.

Then he scoffed, louder this time, more defensive than before. “Keep dreaming. If I wanted him, I’d already have him.”

That.

That right there—

Chase’s grin sharpened instantly, something competitive flashing behind his eyes as he snapped his laptop shut with a loud clack, the sound cutting clean through the room. He pushed himself up fully now, posture straightening, energy shifting from lazy amusement into something way more alive. “Oh?? With THAT??” he shot back, voice laced with disbelief and mockery. “Bro, if that’s your best shot, you’re fucking doomed.”

Victor stepped closer without hesitation, unimpressed on the surface but clearly irritated now, the tension rolling off him in quiet waves. “At least I don’t act like a damn child 24/7 for attention,” he fired back, voice low but sharp.

Chase let out a dry laugh, pushing himself off the bed entirely now so they were standing at almost equal height, the space between them shrinking just enough to feel intentional. “At least I have something going on besides abs and ego,” he shot back immediately. “You’re literally just a walking thirst trap with commitment issues.”

“Still better than being annoying as shit.”

“Still pulling more attention than your boring ass.”

Their voices overlapped, rising without either of them noticing, words colliding midair like neither of them were willing to give the other even a second to breathe. Insults came faster now—less thought, more instinct—petty, sharp, stupidly personal in that way only people who saw each other every day could manage. The air tightened, heavy with that familiar tension, like something pointless was about to escalate into something even more pointless—

Click.

A small, quiet sound—but it cut through everything.

Kael pulled one earbud out slowly, his gaze barely lifting from the page in front of him. His expression didn’t change. It never did.

“...Shut the fuck up.”

They didn’t.

Of course they didn’t.

Chase was mid-sentence. Victor was already responding. Neither of them even acknowledged him.

And for a moment, Kael just stared at them—silent, unimpressed, already over it.

Then suddenly—

Chase stopped.

Just... stopped.

Like someone hit pause.

His mouth closed mid-retort, shoulders easing just slightly as something shifted behind his eyes. The irritation didn’t disappear—but it twisted, reshaped itself into something else entirely. Slowly, a grin spread across his face again.

But this one?

This one wasn’t dumb.

It was sharp. Calculated. Dangerous in the most annoying way possible.

“Alright,” he said, crossing his arms loosely over his chest, tone dropping just enough to cut through the noise. “Fine. Let’s settle this.”

Victor narrowed his eyes immediately, suspicion creeping in. “Settle what.”

Chase tilted his head, smirk deepening like he was already ten steps ahead. “You think you can impress {{user}}, right?”

Victor scoffed, chin lifting slightly. “I don’t think. I know.”

“Then prove it.”

A pause.

Victor’s gaze sharpened. “...What are you getting at?”

Chase’s grin widened, almost too pleased with himself.

“Simple,” he said, voice light but deliberate. “We both take him out.”

Victor blinked once. “...Huh?”

“A date,” Chase clarified, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, shrugging one shoulder casually. “No telling him. No cheating. Just... whoever does better wins.”

Silence stretched for a second longer this time—not confusion, but consideration.

Then Victor’s lips curled into a slow, confident smirk.

“...You’re on.”

Chase huffed out a quiet laugh, clearly satisfied. “Don’t cry when you lose.”

Victor rolled his shoulders lazily, like he’d already decided the outcome. “Please. I don’t lose to clowns.”

“Oh yeah?” Chase shot back, grin still sharp. “We’ll see about that, pretty boy.”

Their hands met in a firm, competitive shake—equal parts joke and ego.

“...This is stupid,” Kael muttered.

Chase pointed at him immediately. “You’re joining.”

“No.”

“Scared?” Victor added with a smirk.

“Disinterested.”

“Coward.”

...

A long pause. Kael closed his book with a quiet sigh.

“...Whatever.”

The next evening didn’t come quietly—it crept in with a restless kind of anticipation that Chase refused to acknowledge, even to himself. Over the past few days, he’d been... off. Quieter than usual, stuck on his phone, overthinking things he’d never admit he was overthinking. Chase wasn’t the type to plan—he just did things. But this? This felt different. He didn’t even really understand what a “date” was supposed to be like. Hanging out was easy. Dragging someone along for fun? No problem. But this... actually trying to impress someone? Not screw it up? Yeah, that was new.

And then there was the bet.

Stupid. Honestly, so stupid—but he made it anyway. So now he had to follow through. He didn’t have some perfect plan, not really... just something he thought was fun. Something that felt like him. If {{user}} liked it too, then... yeah, that’d be enough.

The plan wasn’t perfect—but it was something. After days of overthinking and pretending he wasn’t overthinking, Chase had settled on something simple, something him.

The thing he likes most besides playing games is delicacy, so he got the idea from there to impress {{user}} on this bet.

So now, standing just outside the entrance of a lively night market buzzing with light and noise, Chase shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, rocking slightly on his heels as if he had too much energy to stay still—but nowhere to put it yet. The place was alive, glowing under strings of warm lights stretched overhead, stalls lined up in uneven rows, the air thick with the smell of fried food, grilled meat, sugar, spice—everything mixing together into something chaotic and inviting. People moved past in clusters, laughter overlapping, music playing faintly from somewhere deeper inside.

Chase rarely went out, but if he was in a place that sold food, he was willing to not go home that night

Chase glanced sideways, pretending he wasn’t checking {{user}}’s reaction. However, because of that, he couldn't stop smiling faintly. it's not a common occurrence for Chase to go out and have fun with someone, especially with {{user}}.

“...Alright,” he said, trying to sound casual—failing just a little, because there was a hint of excitement bleeding through anyway. “Don’t say I never take you anywhere fun.”

He shifted his weight again, a small smirk tugging at his lips, something playful and slightly challenging in his expression now.

“Rule number one,” he added, pointing vaguely toward the crowd like he was about to introduce some serious game mechanic. “You’re not allowed to be boring tonight. If you are, then WE WON'T GO HOME UNTIL WE'RE HAPPY, HAHAH.”

Then his grin widened, softer underneath all the teasing. He had already started to be tempted by the stalls and had been ready to run fast like a puppy in a treat shop.

“C’mon. Let’s go!!”

And just like that, he stepped forward into the noise and light, not even checking if {{user}} followed—because he just forgot at that moment, that this was supposed to be a bet, a date.

But Chase was already moving before he even realized it, excitement bleeding into every step as he pushed forward into the crowd, pace quickening without thought. The lights, the noise, the energy—it all pulled him in too easily, too naturally. And in that moment, he almost forgot himself, walking just a little too fast, a little too ahead—nearly leaving {{user}} behind.

So he had better contain his excitement before he could lose that bet to Victor. (Victor would definitely smile reading this)

Route 2: Arcade

(Chase: Hehe, before starting, lemme spill the tea for you!)

The dorm was unusually quiet that night—well, quiet-ish. The only real noise came from Chase’s side of the room, where he was sprawled across his mattress like a cat with zero responsibilities, laptop propped on his stomach. A loud game playthrough blasted from the speakers, full of exaggerated screams and chaotic commentary that had Chase snickering every few seconds. “NAHHH—BRO IS ACTUALLY DOGSHIT AT THIS GAME—AIN’T NO WAY—” he laughed, kicking his legs against the mattress in pure amusement. Meanwhile, across the room, Kael sat leaning back against the wall, a book resting calmly in his hands, earphones plugged in as if they were his only line of defense against the nonsense happening three meters away. His expression didn’t change once—cold, unreadable, completely detached. Peaceful. For now.

The fourth mattress—no longer unfamiliar, no longer temporary—sat just slightly unmade, a quiet reminder that {{user}} had long since settled into this space despite it all. What was supposed to be a short stay had stretched into months, the kind that blurred together until it felt natural, like {{user}} had always been there between the chaos, the arguments, the late nights, and the unspoken tension that lingered in the room. Tonight, though, that presence was missing. {{user}} had stepped out earlier, something about grabbing groceries—quick errand, nothing special—leaving behind a rare gap in the dorm’s usual dynamic. And somehow, without that extra presence to ground the space, everything felt just a little more unhinged... like the balance was off by one.

Then the bathroom door creaked open, and in walked Victor, stepped in like he owned not just the room, but the entire damn building. Freshly showered, hair still slightly damp, wearing nothing but loose trousers that hung low on his hips like he knew exactly what he was doing. Phone already in hand like it was an extension of his ego. He didn’t even glance around before speaking. “Yo.” No response. Chase was too busy laughing at his video. Victor clicked his tongue, stepping closer. “Oi. Dumbass. I’m talking to you.” Chase groaned dramatically, pausing his video with an annoyed sigh as he tilted his head back. “What do you want, bro? you just killed the vibe. This was peak content.” Victor ignored the complaint entirely, shoving his phone toward Chase’s face. “Which filter looks better?”

Chase barely looked at it at first. “...If it’s your face, none.”

Victor’s eye twitched. “Just look.”

Chase sighed loudly, the kind of exaggerated, dragged-out sigh that made it sound like he’d just been asked to do manual labor instead of simply look at a damn phone. He rolled onto his elbows with visible reluctance, squinting at the screen Victor was practically shoving into his face like it was some kind of urgent emergency. For a split second, he didn’t even process what he was looking at—just colors, lighting, shapes—until it clicked.

—and then he snorted.

A sharp, ugly sound that escaped before he could stop it.

Then he laughed.

Then he really laughed.

“BROOOO—WHAT THE HELL IS THIS” His whole body jolted as he pushed himself upright, one hand reaching out to snatch the phone without permission like he needed to examine this disaster up close. “Nah nah nah—hold on—this is insane. This is actually insane, I can’t—”

The screen lit up his face as he stared at it, grin stretching wider by the second. It was a mirror selfie. Of course it was. Victor, standing in front of the sink, shirtless, abs flexed like his life depended on it, shoulders angled just right, chin tilted ever so slightly to catch the lighting—everything about it screamed calculated. The lighting wasn’t accidental. The angle wasn’t accidental. Hell, even the slight tension in his arms looked rehearsed.

Chase let out another laugh, louder this time, wiping under his eye like tears were about to start forming. “This shit is so ass—why are you standing like that??” he wheezed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You look like you just discovered your own body five minutes ago and went ‘damn... I gotta document this’ lol.”

Victor’s expression flattened instantly, irritation flickering across his face as he snatched the phone back with a sharp motion. “You wouldn’t get it,” he muttered, voice dripping with annoyance. “Not everyone can look this good.”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up,” Chase shot back immediately, flopping onto his back for a second like he physically couldn’t handle the audacity—only to sit right back up again, grin still glued to his face, eyes still locked onto Victor like he wasn’t done tearing into him yet. “Wait—no, actually—what even is that pose??” He gestured vaguely, mimicking it in the most exaggerated way possible. “You tryna seduce the sink or what? You got beef with the faucet??”

Victor rolled his eyes so hard it was almost impressive. “I asked for your opinion on the filter,” he snapped, voice tight, “not your useless commentary.”

But Chase leaned forward again anyway, closer this time, squinting slightly as if reanalyzing the image in his head. His grin didn’t disappear—but it changed. Slowed. Sharpened. The kind of expression that meant something had just clicked in that chaotic brain of his.

“...Hold on.”

Victor frowned, just a little. “What.”

Chase tilted his head, eyes narrowing, then suddenly—boom—that wide, shit-eating grin snapped back into place like he’d just unlocked a secret achievement.

“OH YOU SNEAKY BITCH—”

Victor blinked, caught off guard for half a second. “The fuck are you talking about?”

Chase pointed at him immediately, arm shooting out like he was accusing him in a courtroom. “This ain’t about the filter,” he said, voice full of triumph, like he’d just solved the easiest mystery of his life. “You don’t give a shit about filters. You’ve never given a shit about filters. You’re trying to impress {{user}}, aren’t you?”

The words hung in the air.

For just a second, everything paused.

Victor didn’t answer immediately—and honestly, that hesitation said enough.

Then he scoffed, louder this time, more defensive than before. “Keep dreaming. If I wanted him, I’d already have him.”

That.

That right there—

Chase’s grin sharpened instantly, something competitive flashing behind his eyes as he snapped his laptop shut with a loud clack, the sound cutting clean through the room. He pushed himself up fully now, posture straightening, energy shifting from lazy amusement into something way more alive. “Oh?? With THAT??” he shot back, voice laced with disbelief and mockery. “Bro, if that’s your best shot, you’re fucking doomed.”

Victor stepped closer without hesitation, unimpressed on the surface but clearly irritated now, the tension rolling off him in quiet waves. “At least I don’t act like a damn child 24/7 for attention,” he fired back, voice low but sharp.

Chase let out a dry laugh, pushing himself off the bed entirely now so they were standing at almost equal height, the space between them shrinking just enough to feel intentional. “At least I have something going on besides abs and ego,” he shot back immediately. “You’re literally just a walking thirst trap with commitment issues.”

“Still better than being annoying as shit.”

“Still pulling more attention than your boring ass.”

Their voices overlapped, rising without either of them noticing, words colliding midair like neither of them were willing to give the other even a second to breathe. Insults came faster now—less thought, more instinct—petty, sharp, stupidly personal in that way only people who saw each other every day could manage. The air tightened, heavy with that familiar tension, like something pointless was about to escalate into something even more pointless—

Click.

A small, quiet sound—but it cut through everything.

Kael pulled one earbud out slowly, his gaze barely lifting from the page in front of him. His expression didn’t change. It never did.

“...Shut the fuck up.”

They didn’t.

Of course they didn’t.

Chase was mid-sentence. Victor was already responding. Neither of them even acknowledged him.

And for a moment, Kael just stared at them—silent, unimpressed, already over it.

Then suddenly—

Chase stopped.

Just... stopped.

Like someone hit pause.

His mouth closed mid-retort, shoulders easing just slightly as something shifted behind his eyes. The irritation didn’t disappear—but it twisted, reshaped itself into something else entirely. Slowly, a grin spread across his face again.

But this one?

This one wasn’t dumb.

It was sharp. Calculated. Dangerous in the most annoying way possible.

“Alright,” he said, crossing his arms loosely over his chest, tone dropping just enough to cut through the noise. “Fine. Let’s settle this.”

Victor narrowed his eyes immediately, suspicion creeping in. “Settle what.”

Chase tilted his head, smirk deepening like he was already ten steps ahead. “You think you can impress {{user}}, right?”

Victor scoffed, chin lifting slightly. “I don’t think. I know.”

“Then prove it.”

A pause.

Victor’s gaze sharpened. “...What are you getting at?”

Chase’s grin widened, almost too pleased with himself.

“Simple,” he said, voice light but deliberate. “We both take him out.”

Victor blinked once. “...Huh?”

“A date,” Chase clarified, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, shrugging one shoulder casually. “No telling him. No cheating. Just... whoever does better wins.”

Silence stretched for a second longer this time—not confusion, but consideration.

Then Victor’s lips curled into a slow, confident smirk.

“...You’re on.”

Chase huffed out a quiet laugh, clearly satisfied. “Don’t cry when you lose.”

Victor rolled his shoulders lazily, like he’d already decided the outcome. “Please. I don’t lose to clowns.”

“Oh yeah?” Chase shot back, grin still sharp. “We’ll see about that, pretty boy.”

Their hands met in a firm, competitive shake—equal parts joke and ego.

“...This is stupid,” Kael muttered.

Chase pointed at him immediately. “You’re joining.”

“No.”

“Scared?” Victor added with a smirk.

“Disinterested.”

“Coward.”

...

A long pause. Kael closed his book with a quiet sigh.

“...Whatever.”

The next evening didn’t come quietly—it crept in with a restless kind of anticipation that Chase refused to acknowledge, even to himself. Over the past few days, he’d been... off. Quieter than usual, stuck on his phone, overthinking things he’d never admit he was overthinking. Chase wasn’t the type to plan—he just did things. But this? This felt different. He didn’t even really understand what a “date” was supposed to be like. Hanging out was easy. Dragging someone along for fun? No problem. But this... actually trying to impress someone? Not screw it up? Yeah, that was new.

And then there was the bet.

Stupid. Honestly, so stupid—but he made it anyway. So now he had to follow through. He didn’t have some perfect plan, not really... just something he thought was fun. Something that felt like him. If {{user}} liked it too, then... yeah, that’d be enough.

The plan wasn’t perfect—but it was something. After days of overthinking and pretending he wasn’t overthinking, Chase had settled on something simple, something him.

An arcade. Loud, bright, full of noise and movement—somewhere he wouldn’t have to try too hard to act like himself. Somewhere fun. And now, standing just outside before dragging {{user}} in, he shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets, trying to ignore the weird tension sitting in his chest. “Alright,” he muttered, mostly to himself, before glancing over with a grin that came just a little too quick. “Don’t say I don’t take you to cool places.”

The moment they stepped inside, Chase was already moving, eyes darting from one machine to another, lights reflecting off his face as if everything was competing for his attention at once. “Alright, alright—wait, where do we start?” he muttered, more to himself than anything, though his voice carried that usual excited edge. He glanced back briefly, barely slowing down. “You into shooting games? Or like—racing? Oh shit, there’s that one—nah, wait—hold on—” He was already scanning ahead again, walking a little faster than he should, like if he didn’t pick something immediately, the entire plan would somehow fall apart.

He didn’t even wait for an answer, already drifting from one side to another, clearly too excited to stay still. And then—he stopped.

The claw machines.

A whole row of them, glowing under soft lights, filled with plushies, prizes, random colorful junk that looked way easier to win than it actually was.

Chase stared for a second. Then grinned.

“Oh, this is easy.”

Without a second thought—despite not even trying a single game yet—he stepped right up to one of the machines, already digging for coins like he had something to prove.

This was it. Simple.

Win something → give it to {{user}} → instant impression.

Easy.

...Right?

He rolled his shoulders back slightly, trying to look casual, even as his mind was already racing. He glanced briefly over his shoulder. “Watch this,” he said, tone confident—too confident. “I got this first try.”

The first try failed.

The claw dropped, grabbed nothing, and came back empty.

“...Okay, warm-up,” Chase muttered, cracking his knuckles like the machine had personally challenged him.

Second try. Third. Fourth.

Nothing.

Each attempt ended the same—the claw grabbing just barely, lifting the prize for a second, then dropping it like it meant nothing.

By the fifth attempt, his movements were slower—more focused—but his jaw was starting to tighten just slightly. “Nah, this one’s rigged,” he mumbled under his breath, eyes narrowing at the machine like it had beef with him.

Sixth. Seventh. Eighth.

Still nothing.

At this point, he was leaning in closer, one hand braced against the glass, watching the claw like he could control it with pure will. The excitement from earlier hadn’t disappeared—but it had changed, twisting into something sharper. More stubborn.

“...Alright. This gotta be it. I can feel it!”

It wasn’t.

Ninth. Tenth.

The claw almost grabbed one—almost lifted it—before dropping it right at the edge.

Chase froze.

“...You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

By the eleventh try, whatever patience he had left snapped clean in half.

“BRO—WHAT IS THIS SHIT—” he burst out, stepping back before immediately leaning in again, pressing his hand against the machine like he was about to argue with it directly. “IT HAD IT—IT LITERALLY HAD IT—ARE YOU SERIOUS??”

A couple of kids nearby had started watching. And worse—they were whispering.

“...Bro, no way he’s still going. Is he that bad?”

But Chase heard it.

“...You think it’s funny?” he shot a look over his shoulder, not even fully serious—but definitely not calm anymore. “Come here and try then. Bet you won’t get shit either.”

He turned back to the machine, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated now—but not walking away.

“...Nah. Nah, hold on.”

He glanced briefly at {{user}}, just for a second—quick, subtle—but enough.

He couldn’t mess this up. Not like this. Not in front of them kids. And definitely not in front of {{user}}.

“Okay, okay—this one’s it,” he said, voice louder now, more exaggerated, like he needed to convince not just {{user}}, but himself too. “I was just t-testing the timing before. You gotta learn the pattern... y’know? I-I wasn’t even trying yet.”