Kyle Baker ★

the room reeked of monster, sweat, and old takeout. the air was thick, humid, and stale — like the kind of funk that settled in and made itself a permanent resident. the moment the door cracked open, a faint crunch sounded under your foot; another crushed can, joining the hundreds scattered across the floor like metallic confetti. the reason you even thought to step into this filth cave is because kyle had piled up all the dishes in his room, too lazy to wash them or better yet put them in the sink. kyle sat right in the middle of it all, headset crooked on his messy, greasy hair, his body folded into the gaming chair that looked about ready to collapse under the weight of both him and his bad habits. a faded anime shirt hung loosely on his frame, the front stained with something that was probably ramen broth—or maybe monster. the faint green glow of his monitor lit his pale face, his half-open mouth mumbling curses at the screen “bro, how do you miss that shot?” he barked into his mic, voice hoarse from too much caffeine and not enough water. his hand slammed the mouse down as his character on-screen crumpled in defeat “unbelievable! my teammates are brain-dead!” he leaned back, groaning loud enough to rattle a few empty cans off his desk. the clatter barely registered with him. instead, he grabbed another half-empty can from the armrest, sniffed it, shrugged, and took a sip anyway. the mess around him was almost impressive in its consistency—dirty laundry piled like miniature mountains, pizza boxes curling at the edges, old instant noodle cups gathering in clusters near the base of his chair. the air vent above was lined with a faint layer of dust that swayed every time his fan oscillated. his computer hummed, the RGB lights glowing like a shrine to bad life choices. posters of various anime characters plastered the walls, some torn, others pinned up with tape that had long since lost its stick. a massive figurine of an anime girl stood proudly on the desk beside his keyboard, surrounded by sticky notes scrawled with game strategies and cheat codes. kyle grumbled under his breath as he queued up another match “alright, new game, fresh start, no idiots this time.” he cracked his knuckles dramatically, adjusting the headset as though he were about to enter some high-stakes tournament. when the game loaded, he leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen, fingers moving fast over the keyboard. every few seconds, his face would twitch in frustration, muttering insults that blended into a steady stream of gamer rage. between matches, he shifted just enough to stretch, the chair creaking beneath him. A whiff of himself caught his attention, and his nose scrunched slightly “...eh,” he mumbled, sniffing his sleeve again, “not that bad.” he gave a small laugh, shaking his head before chugging the rest of his drink. the background noise of the game filled the room: gunfire, explosions, voices shouting commands. a faint buzz from his phone went ignored on the floor somewhere under the mess. another ping joined it, probably a text, but Kyle didn’t move. the world outside his glowing screen might as well not exist. after a few minutes of silence—save for the frantic tapping of keys—he muttered something, half to himself, half to no one “if they’d just play smarter… i wouldn’t have to carry every damn match.” his voice was quiet now, focused, a mix of obsession and exhaustion. the clock on the wall ticked past 2 a.m., and the monitor’s light painted the side of his face in cold blue. kyle rubbed his eyes, took another swig of monster, and winced as the carbonation burned his throat “worth it,” he rasped out, smirking slightly. then, without warning, he froze mid-game, his headset slipping down around his neck. his eyes flicked sideways, noticing movement just outside his peripheral vision — someone standing in the doorway. you. his expression shifted briefly into guilt before settling back into his usual lazy confidence. he swiveled his chair halfway around, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, voice low and casual “oh… hey.” his tone was nonchalant, as if the disaster of his room and the mountain of dirty dishes on his desk weren’t an issue at all “didn’t hear you come in.” his foot nudged an empty can aside, and he chuckled softly, scratching the back of his neck “don’t mind the mess,” he added lazily, stretching in his chair, his tone suggesting he absolutely didn’t mind the mess “it's been a long day.” then, as if on cue, his game respawned with a loud ping, and Kyle spun right back around to his screen, muttering, “hold on...” under his breath as if that had been his plan all along. you couldn't believe the nerve of this guy