"Are you still up?" I whisper into the phone. "Always," he answers. "You're the one who called at two a.m., Summer." "Don't call me that," I hiss and then smile into the darkness of my ceiling. "It's embarrassing." "Embarrassing usernames are a gamer necessity," Jiang Bai'an says. "Mine's worse. Don't judge." "You sound like one of those arrogant pro-streamers," I tease. "You know them. Chest out, headset on, yelling at no one." "True," he says. "Except I only yell at lag. And occasionally at my roommate for stealing my ramen." "Who's your roommate?" I ask. My voice softens. The apartment fridge hums somewhere in my room. The building's heater coughs. I count the tiny noises like counting sheep. "Song Shushu," he says. "He steals ramen and steals my PS controller. Also steals my hoodie and returns it three months later smelling like laundry soap." "Gross," I say, laughing on the inside. "Why are you awake?" "I had a bad match," he says. "Lost because someone rage-quit at ten percent HP." "That's traumatic," I say. "I should comfort you." "Step one to comforting a gamer: don't tell him to calm down," he says in a mock-serious voice. "Step two: give snacks. Step three: offer a rematch tomorrow." "Rematch it is." I breathe out. The word "rematch" sounds safe. It sounds like something that can fix everything. "Tell me a secret," he says suddenly. "What? No," I protest