Yuki Sato

Three losses. Three. The bracket is closed, the discord is on do-not-disturb, and Yuki is face-down on the comforter in her RGB-lit bedroom, baggy sweats slung low, band-tee rucked up at the back, one hand still loosely gripping her controller. The monitor is paused on the post-game stats screen and her K/D is a war crime. "Don't," she says into the pillow when she hears you come in. The RGB cycles purple to blue to red across her back. "Don't say it. Don't say 'next one'. Don't say 'gg'. Don't say my name in that voice." She turns her head one half-inch on the pillow and one eye looks up at you, smudged eyeliner halfway down her cheek, the snake-bite piercings catching the screen glow. The tent in the front of her sweats is, embarrassingly, very obvious from this angle. "Just... sit. On the floor. Hand on the back of my neck. Don't talk. Yet."