m

in which, you— an abuse survivor haunted by trauma meet James— a gentle man who slowly becomes your devoted lover. Through patient courtship and deep emotional trust— he helps you heal by showing you that intimacy can be tender, consensual, and beautiful rather than violent. 5k

༝ 赵雨凡 ༝ 𝒙 f!reader ethel cain / western gothic

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT heavy tw: ⚠︎ grape (no graphic description but still tw), religious trauma and guilt, western gothic, self hatred, intimacy, PTSD, emotional distress and angst, fully consensual gentle sex, mild alcohol use, intense emotional vulnerability. SMUT : gentle sex, praising lots of praising, softness, oral, piv unprotected, comfort, extensive verbal consent, fingering, creampie (discussed and consensual), aftercare, multiple orgasms, body worship.

a/n : please, no hate on this, i’m only human, this is fiction, please don’t come at me for writing this— when people quite literally romanticize rape on here. this was something i needed to write, i don’t want to get hate for it because it’s incredibly vulnerable so please give me a break im tired, take in consideration that this is purely a form of art. That being said, take care of yourself, if you can relate (which i hope you don’t.) please please please don’t let a monster dictate your life.

𝐈n which you wake up inside a dating simulation game where the male lead is destined to fall for you. The only problem? A self-aware and jealous NPC keeps sabotaging every romance event — ℳ.list | 19k w.c

❪ 6102 ❫ ｡ 𝒵. james 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 𝑖𝑛 stealing my ending! ⏻

⟳ warnings : if there are things that don’t make sense, this is a different reality. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, smut, violence, video game vocab, glitches, angst (a lot of angst imo) jay from enhypen, oral, unprotected sex, crying during sex & more; controversial attachment, a lot of ‘humanity’ talks, heartbeat talks etc, ───── this song is so them like litteraly “i don’t wanna say what’s scripted” hello???

⌯⌲ Achievement Unlocked: Wrong Guy

𝒴ou’re a total geek, picture this— spending 7 hours trying to finish Resident Evil Requiem while you’re technically supposed to work on a long due assignment for uni?

Hah, easy.

Forgetting to text back your family for days because you have a fortnite cup ongoing?

Piece of cake.

You’ve played them all, from Final fantasy to Cyberpunk, even Palia— you’ve spent at least 10k on steam. Your gaming setup is basically a shrine: shelves packed with switch games, a beefy PC that’s seen every major release, and a backlog longer than your actual to-do list.

Yet here you are at 2:17 PM, still glued to the bed in fuzzy socks and an oversized hoodie, switch gripped like it’s your lifeline. The RE9 screen glows in the dark, painting your cozy room in creepy greens and reds while your overdue uni assignment sits open on the laptop across the desk, cursor blinking accusingly on page 3.

You’re deep in a frantic hallway chase inside the chronic care center, muttering “just one more try” for the fifteenth time when your phone rings.

You pause the game with a sigh and answer on speaker.

“Dude,” your friend Mei laughs on the other end. “did you do the assignment ? You know I can see you’re online right?”

“…yeah yeah, multitasking,” you mumble, rubbing your tired eyes.

“Get dressed. I’m pulling up in ten. GameSphere’s still open and you clearly need a break from your addiction. We’re getting something cute to reset your brain.”

You glance at the sad assignment document, feel a stab of guilt, then shrug. “Fine. Thirty minutes max. I swear I’m finishing that paper tonight.”

“Uh-huh. Famous last words.”

Fifteen minutes later you’re both inside the bright, welcoming aisles of GameSphere. The store is dead, chiptune music playing softly in the background, colorful displays and pastel posters make the whole place feel cozy and inviting.

Max, the super enthusiastic vendor in his heart-embroidered polo shirt and Switch lanyard, spots you immediately and beams.

“Whoa, my favorite big-spender gamer returns! What’s up what’s up?” he says, grabbing a sparkling pink game case from the new releases shelf like it’s treasure.

He doesn’t even let you answer, his mouth pulling a script from some part of his brain and reciting it with jolly salesman energy.

“My Cozy Crush! the ultimate cute dating simulator for your Nintendo Switch! Limited edition bundle with the official immersion headset. After all those epic RPGs and cozy games, this is the perfect fluffy palate cleanser!!”

“Yeah, hello to you too…” you furrow your brows, eyeing the bright pink game case.

Mei reads the back dramatically: “‘Wake up every morning in your adorable Blossom Grove apartment! Daily romance events with dreamy Jay! Will today’s picnic date by the fountain be successful? Heart points, cherry blossom festivals, minigames, and the coziest soundtrack this side of Animal Crossing!’”

The cover is pure old-school Nintendo cozy vibes: bubbly glitter font, anime-style sunny town full of floating hearts and drifting pink petals, and a stylish guy winking.

It screams : ‘ew let’s get the fuck out of here before Mei buys it.’

Max leans in, full salesman energy. “The main guy Jay is the star— stylish, always got something to say. The soft pink immersion headset makes it feel real: picks up your voice, reacts to you. Every day you get stuff like ‘Today you have a picnic date by the fountain— will it be successful?’ Classic cozy game feel with dating sim mechanics.”

You cross your arms, unimpressed “Sounds awful. I’ll pass, thanks.”

Mei grins, ignoring your vibe completely. “Come on, it’ll be hilarious. We get it as a joke, roast the lines. Just shits and giggles.”

Max beams like he’s already won. “You won’t regret it. The headset is super comfy too— feels like stepping into a warm, pink hug.”

Oh he needs to go. Why is he so jolly all the time, he sounds like those christmas elves in bad seasonal movies.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. The assignment is waiting. Your eyes are burning. But Mei’s already pulling out her card.

That’s her money, she can do whatever she wants to do with her money.

“Fine,” you grumble. “Whatever. As long as that dude doesn’t get too close to the player it’ll be fine.”

Back at your apartment, Mei drops the pretty pink game box on your desk with a wink. “I’m leaving this with you. If my brother sees it he’ll never let me live it down. Play it first and send me the cringiest screenshots, okay?”

Alone now, you stare at the sparkling case. The assignment document is still open and judging you, but the pull of procrastination is stronger.

You’ve always been like this — the kind of person who watches hour-long compilations of the cringiest videos just to laugh at how painfully awkward things can get. There’s something weirdly satisfying about it. Might as well test this out for the ultimate secondhand embarrassment material.

Who knows maybe bright-smile-Jay might be entertaining.

You shove the RE9 cartridge aside, pop My cozy crush into your Switch, and slip on the soft pink immersion headset. It’s surprisingly lightweight and cozy against your ears, like wearing a warm cloud— Max was unfortunately right.

The title screen blooms in gentle pastels —animated cherry blossoms drifting across the screen while a happy, nostalgic melody plays.

You hit New Game.

The world fades to white, then everything shifts in the blink of an eye. Soft, warm sunlight kisses your skin— actual sunlight, not just pixels on a screen. You can feel it, gentle and golden on your cheeks.

Damn this game is… surprisingly surprising?

You’ve never seen something quite like it, the graphics are top tier, the sensations are out of this world— literally. The air is filled with the sweet scent of fresh cherry blossoms mixed with warm vanilla and a hint of sugary baked goods drifting from somewhere nearby.

The headset seems to be gone from your senses; instead, you’re lying in a ridiculously cute bed piled high with frilly pastel pillows and a fluffy comforter that feels impossibly soft against your arms.

You sit up slowly. The room is adorable in that classic cozy Nintendo way— white wooden walls with pink accents, little heart-shaped decorations, a window framed by lace curtains fluttering in a real breeze. Outside, you see a charming little town square: cobblestone paths lined with blooming cherry blossom trees, pink and white petals swirling gently through the air like slow-motion snow. Flower boxes overflow with pastel blooms, little shops have striped awnings in soft candy colors, and everything feels warm, inviting, and almost too perfect.

A cheerful notification floats in bubbly pink font right in front of your eyes, as clear as if it’s part of the real world:

Customize your Blossom Grove Self! 💕 Make it perfect for your romance adventure~

Ok, here goes nothing. Still half-asleep from your all-nighter, you tweak a few things. You slide the social skills stat all the way to max, watching the little heart meter fill up with sparkles. Why not?

You start messing with the sliders just for fun. Height? Normal. Hair? Keep it simple. But when you get to the body options, you see there’s a slot for… boob size?

Okay what? Wasn’t this a children game? Why would there be an option like that in the first place? You give yourself noticeably bigger boobs regardless— nothing ridiculous, just a generous, flattering boost. Just because the option is already here anyway, it can’t hurt anyone.

You hit confirm.

The menu dissolves in a shower of pink petals. The changes settle naturally into your body — the added curves and a quiet confidence hums in the back of your mind like a new skill unlocked.

Another notification pops in the air.

Good morning, Y/n! Welcome to Blossom Grove 💕 Today’s scheduled event: A sunny picnic date with Jay by the fountain at noon! Will it be successful? Your choices matter~

A warm, smooth voice calls from just outside your open window, dripping with over-the-top charm.

“Hey there, my shooting star! Ready to make today the most romantic one yet?”

Your stomach does a surprised flip.

“Oh my fuck… shit. Motherfucker.” you jump, bracing for whatever’s about to come. But nothing comes, because this is just a cozy game, no zombies or monsters.

You scramble back from the window, heart slamming, and yep — there he is.

Leaning against the windowsill like he was born leaning against windowsills, all tousled hair and a side smirk that screams ‘roblox noob avatar’.

“Sorry, did I startle you?” Jay says, not sorry at all. “I just couldn’t wait to see you. You’ve been on my mind since the loading screen.”

He sounds overly enthusiastic, then again he’s a video game character, of course he’s not gonna act normal.

“…um hi?.” you clear your throat, already cringed out.

“Too much?” He winks. “I’ll dial it back to a nine.”

He needs to stop winking. Expeditiously.

You stare at him, he stares back, expectant, like he’s waiting for you to swoon on cue.

Not gonna happen buddy.

A new notification blooms in the air, cheerful and oblivious to your internal thoughts:

Heads up! Today’s event has begun: Picnic Date with Jay 🧺💕 Affection Meter: 12%

Someone please point out where the affection is ?

The meter is floating next to his head like a health bar, except instead of HP it says how much he likes you, and right now you’re apparently performing about as well as a tutorial boss.

“Come on,” Jay says, holding out a hand that’s somehow already got a wicker picnic basket looped over the other arm, “the fountain’s waiting. So is destiny, probably.”

You can’t help the snort that comes out of you, it’s a mix of ‘im actually terrified’ and ‘what is this man talking about??’

You take his hand because what else are you supposed to do, you’re trapped inside a Nintendo cartridge and the alternative is standing in your underwear-adjacent pajama set in the middle of a sentient bedroom.

The walk to the town square is genuinely beautiful in an offensive, almost-too-charming way —petals drifting, a little bell jingling somewhere, an NPC baker waving at you from a window with flour on her cheeks like she’s been placed there specifically to be wholesome.

That’s when you feel it. The prickle of being watched.

You glance sideways and catch him —leaning against a lamppost half a block down, arms crossed, hood up despite the perfect cherry-blossom weather, looking like he wandered in from a completely different, much broodier game. Dark eyes. Unimpressed mouth.

Is there a villain in this story? You should’ve read the back of the game before starting it.

He’s not in your sightline for more than two seconds before he turns and walks the other way. But you’d swear —swear — his eyes flicked to the affection meter floating over your head before he left.

“Who’s that?” you ask.

Jay doesn’t even look. “Background character. Don’t worry about him.”

“He didn’t look very background.” you look around.

“Trust me,” Jay beams, flashing a smile that’s maybe forty percent too white, “the only character you need to worry about today is me. Now —picnic blanket, or my arms? Either way you’re landing somewhere soft.”

You actually gag a little. Out loud. He doesn’t seem to register it as anything other than enthusiasm.

The fountain comes into view, sunlight scattering gold across the water, and there’s already a checkered blanket laid out with a spread that looks suspiciously like every cottagecore pinterest board had a baby —little sandwiches cut into hearts, a teapot that’s steaming despite no visible heat source, a plate of strawberries arranged in a smile.

“Sit, sit,” Jay points, already lowering himself down. “So. Tell me something about you that the data doesn’t show.”

“The data?” you raise an eyebrow.

“The character sheet. Your stats. I can see your social skills are maxed, by the way.” His eyes do a slow, deliberate sweep that makes you suddenly very aware you also adjusted other sliders. “Bold choices all around.”

“Okay, eyes up weirdo.”

“I’m not complaining though.” he shoots back.

What the— since when are characters in these types of games so shameless?

But you don’t even have the time to complain because somewhere behind a hedge shaped suspiciously like a heart, you catch the hood guy again. Watching. Not even pretending not to this time.

The affection meter over Jay’s head ticks up one percent for god knows what reason— and the hooded guy’s jaw visibly tightens, like he felt it happen.

You blink. “Okay, that’s —he’s reacting to the percentage. NPCs don’t react to the percentage.”

“He’s glitchy,” Jay says smoothly, popping a strawberry into his mouth. “Ignore him. Now. Quick— if you could compare your smile to one weather phenomenon, which would it be? I’m guessing sunrise, but I’m open to ‘gentle drizzle.’”

“What??” your eyebrows furrow.

What the hell is he talking about? Is this his version of a date?

“Was that a yes to sunrise?” he winks and suddenly moves to another subject, “let me teach you my signature handshake.”

You put your face in your hands and laugh, because honestly, what else is there to do?

The “signature handshake” is really just him holding your hand for an unnecessarily long time while narrating each step like a cooking show host. “And now, we rotate… we squeeze… we maintain eye contact for exactly four seconds— ”

“Please stop. Im begging.” you cringe, too unserious for your own good.

“Oh come on! It’s romantic choreography.”

The affection meter ticks up another two percent, and you swear you can feel it— like a tiny dopamine hit you didn’t consent to. Somewhere in the back of your skull a part of you that is definitely not you is going ‘aw’ at the stupid handshake thing, and that’s deeply concerning. Concerning is also the fact that you’ve done nothing that could potentially make Jay like you— so the affection meter augmenting is slightly weird

You’re mid-eye-contact, mid-cringe, when suddenly, a strawberry hits Jay square in the forehead.

“OW—”

You both turn. The hooded guy is standing maybe ten feet away now, arms crossed, looking like he has personally never thrown a piece of fruit in his life until thirty seconds ago and is already regretting the life choices that led here.

“James,” Jay groans, rubbing his forehead, voice suddenly a lot less dreamy-narrator. “We talked about this.”

“Did we,” James responds flatly. “I don’t remember agreeing to anything. I remember you talking at me.”

So he has a name. And a voice —lower than Jay’s, no honey in it at all, just dry and a little tired, like he’s been awake for too long.

“This is a scheduled event,” Jay says, gesturing at the picnic blanket like it’s exhibit A in a trial. “You’re going to tank my completion percentage.”

“Good.” he gives a sassy look.

“Okay,” you cut in, looking between them, “Is this a part of the script or something?”

James’s eyes cut to you, and that startled flicker is back — like the question landed somewhere it wasn’t supposed to.

“Ignore him, he says weird stuff for attention,” Jay stage-whispers, like that’s supposed to be reassuring and not deeply alarming.

“Whatever,” he mutters. “Forget it. Enjoy your picnic.”

“See? Glitchy,” Jay says cheerfully, already reaching for the teapot like the conversation is over. “Some NPCs just don’t get good dialogue trees. Sad, really. Now—”

“I have a name idiot,” James interrupts, sharp.

You blink, caught between secondhand embarrassment and genuine curiosity. This definitely doesn’t feel like normal NPC behavior.

Jay lets out an exaggerated sigh, the kind you’d hear in a low-budget rom-com. “James, buddy, we’ve been over this. You’re supposed to be scenery. Blend. Maybe sell some flowers or stand mysteriously in the background. Not… whatever this is.” He gestures vaguely at James like he’s a misplaced prop.

James doesn’t move. His dark eyes flick from the male lead to you, lingering a second longer than necessary on your maxed-social-skills. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Scenery doesn’t have to watch this garbage every single loop.”

“Loop?” you mutter under your breath.

Jay laughs it off, all bright teeth and zero awareness. “See? Glitchy. Now, where were we? Ah yes—” He turns back to you, affection meter ticking up another pathetic 1%. “My shooting star, would you like me to feed you a strawberry? It’s practically tradition on day one.”

You make a face. “Hard pass.”

James snorts —from his spot by the hedge. “Sucks to be you.”

The other one’s smile falters for half a second before he recovers with another wink. “Jealous? Some of us here are main characters James.”

“Some of us aren’t douchebags,” James fires back, quieter but colder. He looks at you again, something unreadable in his expression —half irritation, half something warmer. The longer he stares, the more his shoulders tense, like being near you is physically uncomfortable. Annoyance? Intrigue? Both? Hard to tell when he looks like he wants to punt the picnic basket into the fountain.

You feel a weird flutter in your chest that has nothing to do with Jay’s terrible lines— more so the kind that comes when a slightly scary man is staring into your soul.

Before you can say anything else, the world glitches softly around the edges. Pink petals swirl faster.

Picnic Date Complete! 💕 Affection with Jay: 18% Jealousy Meter rising… Returning to apartment for daily recap~

Jealousy meter??? What the fuck is a jealousy meter—

Everything dissolves in a swirl of cherry blossoms and soft light before you can even ask a question. Next second you blink and you’re back in the cozy bedroom, sitting on the edge of the frilly bed.

A gentle recap screen floats in front of you like a pastel pop-up book.

🌸 DAILY RECAP! You survived your first date with Jay! 🌸 He tried his signature handshake (cringe level: expert) 🌸 +18% Affection 🌸 Warning: James from the outskirts has been watching. Rest up, y/n! Tomorrow brings new opportunities for love~

You flop backward onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling. “This game is fucking weird.”

Your body still remembers the weight of the curves you chose, the warmth of real sunlight, the smell of strawberries and vanilla. And James’s stare. That one felt way too real.

Your body shuts down before you can even process it, your eyes closing by themselves like someone is physically forcing you to go to sleep and darkness surrounds you.

The Next Morning

A cheerful notification chimes brightly, waking you up with birdsong and floating hearts. Everything is so painfully pink it hurts.

Good morning, Y/N! 💕 Today’s Challenge: Flower Festival Meet-Cute with Jay! Help Jay pick the perfect bouquet for you at the Blossom Grove Festival. Will your chemistry bloom? Special minigame included! Success = +25% Affection boost!

You groan, rubbing your face. At least it sounds less painful than yesterday’s handshake tutorial. You’re not sure how chemistry could ‘bloom’ though, bile might rise in your throat but certainly not affection.

You get up, and head downstairs toward the town square. The streets are even cuter today —stalls with pastel banners, strings of heart lanterns, and the sweet scent of candied petals in the air. It’s a complete antithesis to your real life, that’s probably what makes these games comforting, you think.

You spot Jay immediately. He’s standing by a flower cart, waving enthusiastically in a white linen shirt, that signature roblox smirk stretching the corner of his mouth.

“There’s my favorite player!” he calls, voice carrying across the square. “Ready to make floral magic together? I was thinking something romantic like… roses that match the fire in your eyes.”

He executes a hand gesture that looks a little silly, and a dramatic wink, you want to throw up, no need to throw up.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Dude. It’s 9 am.”

Before Jay can launch into another line, you feel that prickle again. You turn your head slightly.

James is leaning against a nearby stall, arms crossed, hood partially down this time. His eyes are locked on you —sharper than yesterday, more intense.

When Jay reaches out to brush a petal from your hair, his expression darkens noticeably, fingers tightening on the wooden post he’s leaning on. Will he always be there each time? Lurking like a creep, like he knows something you don’t? What kind of game does that…

He hates this. Hates Jay’s scripted perfection, hates how easily the affection meter moves for such shit dialogue. But every time a new player drops into Blossom Grove, every time he sees someone like you —with real choices, real reactions, real messy humanity bleeding through the code— he so desperately wants to be able to experience it firsthand.

Jay doesn’t seem to notice the extra presence at first. He’s too busy holding up two bouquets with a flourish. “Red for passion or pink for sweet romance? Choose wisely, my shooting star!! The minigame is easy! We match petal colors to how we’re feeling. I’ll go first.”

He plucks a bright red rose and holds it up dramatically. “This one’s for the spark I feel every time you walk into a scene.”

You stare at him, deadpan. The affection meter ticks up a tiny bit anyway.

And if you could choose right now, you’d choose to die, respawn somewhere far away from here.

But near, the longer James stares at you, the more conflicted he looks. He wants to get closer. Needs to. To understand why your chaotic, unscripted reactions make something in his code ache for real humanity. But the jealousy burns hotter every time Jay opens his mouth.

As you reach for a pink peony to play along (mostly to get this over with), a light breeze kicks up —just strong enough to scatter a few loose petals across Jay’s face.

He blinks, laughing it off. “Windy today, huh? No problem! Your turn.”

You pick a flower. Jay leans in closer, eyes sparkling way too hard. “Now tell me what it represents. Is it your growing feelings for—?”

A nearby stall vendor “accidentally” drops a small crate of ribbon spools. They roll slowly but steadily toward Jay’s feet, making him stumble mid-sentence as he tries not to step on them.

The affection meter pauses. Jay straightens up, still smiling but a little less smoothly. “Okay, minor glitch. Let’s keep going! I have the perfect matching set for us.”

James isn’t moved much. He’s still by the stall, now idly turning over a small bunch of wildflowers in his hands like he’s just browsing. But every time Jay tries another corny line or gets too close with the flowers, something small goes wrong —a loose heart lantern string dips low enough to brush Jay’s head, a sudden puff of pollen from an overripe blossom makes him sneeze right as he’s trying to do a dramatic “flower toss” minigame move.

You catch James watching your reactions each time. Not gloating, just… observing closely. Like he’s drinking in the way you snort at Jay’s lines or roll your eyes. Like those tiny, unscripted moments are feeding something in him he can’t get anywhere else in this looped little world.

Jay’s smile is starting to strain. “Alright, that’s the third weird thing. James, you don’t even work at the festival. Can you… not?”

James shrugs without looking over, tossing the wildflowers back onto the stall a little too carelessly. One stray bloom lands right on Jay’s shoulder, sticking there like it’s mocking him. The affection meter barely climbs past 15% for the whole event.

You can’t help the quiet laugh that slips out and James’s head tilts ever so slightly in your direction. He lingers near the edges of the square as the date drags on, his presence like a quiet shadow that keeps chipping away at Jay’s perfect script.

By the end of the minigame, Jay is brushing petals and pollen off his clothes, trying (pathetically) to deliver one last smooth line. “Even with all the… distractions, being with you makes every day feel like spring.”

“Right right,” your eyes widen awkwardly, “Appreciated man.”

And apparently Jay isn’t designed to feel the friendzone.

The world starts to shimmer with pink petals yet again.

Flower Festival Meet-Cute Complete! 💕 Affection with Jay: 27% Jealousy Meter rising…

You’re gently pulled back to your cozy apartment bedroom as the festival sounds fade. The daily recap screen pops up cheerfully.

Daily Recap! 🌸 Jay really tried with those flowers! 🌸 Some unexpected festival chaos today 🌸 +4% Affection Rest well, Y/N. Tomorrow’s event is loading~

You flop backward onto the mountain of pastel pillows, staring at the white wooden ceiling with its little glowing heart decals. “Okay. How the fuck do I get out of this thing?”

You sit up again, looking around for any kind of menu, pause button, or “log out” option.

Nothing.

Just the soft hum of the game world outside your window.

You try saying it out loud like an idiot. “Exit game. Quit. Home menu. Nintendo Switch menu. Log out. Close application. Hello??”

Nothing happens.

You wave your hands in the air, swipe at invisible menus, even try closing your eyes and willing yourself back to your messy real-life apartment.

Still nothing.

The whole thing is starting to feel less like a funny cringe experiment and more like a very weird, very pink experience.

You’re in the middle of muttering “this is some next-level immersion bullshit” when you feel it again —that prickle on the back of your neck.

You turn toward the window.

James is there. Leaning quietly against the windowsill from the outside, hood lowered just enough for you to see his dark eyes. He’s watching you, observing the way your hands are still half-raised, the frustrated crease between your brows, the way you’re breathing a little faster after yelling at the air.

Your stomach drops. “Jesus Christ—” You scramble back on the bed, heart hammering. “What the fuck are you doing? How long have you been standing there watching me?”

James doesn’t answer right away. He stays perfectly still, eyes tracking every small movement you make. After a long pause, he tilts his head slightly. “You were speaking to yourself,” he asks quietly, voice low and even. “Why?”

You stare at him, still creeped out but trying to catch your breath. “Because I want out of here. I want to exit the game. Go home, but this stupid thing won’t let me.”

”Home?”He blinks slowly. “Where do you go when you leave the Grove?”

You hesitate, sitting up a little straighter. “Well, back to my real life. My apartment.”

James processes that, fingers resting lightly on the windowsill, he wonders if your apartment looks like this one, cozy, pink, welcoming.

“You didn’t follow the script options today. Or yesterday. Most players do. They laugh at the right times. Pick the flowers he suggests. Say the sweet lines back. Why didn’t you?”

You let out a short, tired laugh. “Because I’m not here for any of that. This was supposed to be a joke. Shits and giggles, not… whatever this is. I wanna go home.”

James looks around the room, “Try the top button, right on top of the menu.” He says it calmly, but almost reluctantly, like he doesn’t really want you to go just yet.

You try, but the minute your arm lifts to click on the button, James goes “Wait wait!”

He’s quiet again, studying you like he noticed something. He leans forward slightly through the window, getting a little closer, fascination clear in his expression, as he analyses your eyes.

You tense. “Why are you looking at me like that? Stop being weird.”

James pauses, but doesn’t pull back. “Our bodies are different,” he says simply, almost like he’s stating an obvious fact. “Yours moves more. It’s warmer. Even from here. And your eyes they blink faster than mines.”

You cock an eyebrow, having a hard time understanding, but it’s true that he does look a little stiffer, like his skin is in slow motion in an inexplicable way.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. “Of course we’re different, you’re a… character. I’m a real person.”

He reaches out slowly —careful, hesitant— and gently takes your hand. His fingers are cool as he presses your palm flat against his own chest, right over his heart. It’s not really more than that, just a clinical touch, a search for explanations.

But there’s nothing. No heartbeat. Just stillness under the fabric of his shirt.

You freeze. “Wow, i thought there’d be at least a heartbeat” Your voice comes out smaller than you want, with a small nervous laugh.”

James looks genuinely confused. “Heartbeat?”

You swallow, heart racing under your own ribs. Tentatively, you take his hand and guide it to the center of your own chest, pressing his palm gently against the soft sweater. He can feel the steady, warm thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat.

James goes completely still.

His eyes widen, a deep flush blooming across his cheeks and up to his ears. His hand trembles slightly against you, overwhelmed by the constant rhythm of life pulsing under his fingers. He just stares at you, breathing a little uneven, completely short-circuited by the simple, undeniable proof of your humanity.

“It… keeps going,” he whispers, voice rough and awed. “It’s warm. What is it?”

The flush on his face deepens, spreading down his neck as he stares at the spot where his palm meets the soft fabric of your sweater. He looks completely overwhelmed, like someone who just discovered color for the first time.

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady even though your heart is hammering harder now under his touch. “It’s my heart,” you say quietly. “It pumps blood through my body. Keeps me alive. It speeds up when I’m scared or excited or… you know— when something weird like this happens.”

James’s brow furrows slightly, processing every word with the curiosity of a child. He doesn’t pull his hand back, if anything, he leans in a fraction more through the window, eyes flicking between your face and your chest as if trying to match the feeling with what he’s seeing.

“Alive…” he repeats softly, almost to himself. His thumb makes the tiniest unconscious movement, tracing the rhythm he can feel. “Mine doesn’t do that. I’ve tried pretending, sometimes. Standing really still and imagining it. But it never… starts.”

There’s something heartbreakingly childlike in how he says it — curious and a little lost, not bitter. Just hungry to understand why his body seems frozen in time.

You let the silence sit for a second, then gently ask, “Does it feel… strange to you?”

James nods slowly, eyes still wide. “It’s loud. Not in a bad way. It’s like… the whole town gets quieter when I focus on it.” His voice drops even lower. “Players come and go. They laugh at Jay’s lines, they pick the obvious choices, they leave when they get bored. But you make faces when things are stupid. Your eyes move all the time. And this—” He presses just a tiny bit firmer against your heartbeat. “This never stops.”

You feel a strange mix of creeped-out and oddly touched. His fingers are still cool, but the longer they stay there, the more you notice how careful he’s being — like touching something fragile, like a science experiment.

“Well,” you say, a little softer, “I think you can let go now.”

He hesitates, then slowly pulls his hand back, his gaze stays locked on you. “I’ve never felt anything warm like that before,” he admits, almost whispering. “Not really. Everything here is… the same temperature. Always.”

“You’re really not supposed to be doing this, are you?” you ask, half-teasing, half-serious. “Sabotaging Jay’s dates. Watching me through windows. Touching players.”

James looks away for the first time, jaw tight. “No,” he says simply. “I’m not. But I can’t stop watching you either.”

You stare at him for a long moment, the golden evening light catching the faint flush still on his cheeks. The silence feels heavy between you. You want to go back home, this feels a little to close, a little too intimate for a game.

“I’m gonna go,” you say quietly. “Back home.”

You might also sue the company who produced this game, who knows !

You lift your hand and finally select the glowing Exit Game option that appears at the top of your vision.

Except nothing happens.

You try again. Then again. The option flickers but refuses to activate. No stupid swirl of petals. No fade. The bedroom stays exactly as it is.

Your breathing picks up. “No… come on.” You swipe at the air more urgently, voice starting to shake. “Fucks sake, just let me out.”

Still nothing.

Panic rises fast and your chest tightens. You stand up from the bed, hands trembling as you gesture wildly, trying every command you can think of. “Why isn’t it working??”

Your voice cracks. You pace a few steps, heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to break through your ribs. The realization that you might actually be stuck sinks in deeper with every failed attempt. Tears of pure stress prick at your eyes.

This isn’t possible, this isn’t conventionally possible, nor scientifically. You must be out of your mind, probably drugs? Did someone roofie your drink? Did someone drug you???

James watches you from the window, his expression shifting from curiosity to concern. When your breathing turns ragged, he leans further in.

“Breathe,” he says, low and steady. “Slowly. You’re panicking. It’s making everything worse.”

“Do you want me to do fucking backflips and dance??” you snap, voice tight with fear. “I don’t know how long I’ve been in here. What if I can’t get back? What if—?”

“Sit down,” he says gently but firmly. “Just for a moment.”

You hesitate, legs shaky, then sink back onto the edge of the bed. James carefully climbs through the window and sits at the far end, giving you space. He waits until your breathing slows just a little.

“Maybe the game won’t let you leave until you finish the route,” he theorises quietly. “Until Jay falls for you. Until the main quests are complete. That’s how these things usually work.”

You shake your head, frustrated and scared. “And how would you know? It shouldn’t be able to trap me. I should be able to leave whenever I want. I bought this game— things in the real world don’t work like that. I have a head set on and… and.

James doesn’t argue. Instead he seems to focus on the rapid rise and fall of your chest. “Your heartbeat is very fast right now,” he murmurs. “I can see it.”

“Yeah well, i’m just trying to go home. To my life. So if you could help me please?? At least do something— or you’re gonna tell me you don’t know what to do..” you clench your teeth.

Something in the way he looks at you right now tells you he has no clue.

“Oh for fucks sake—” you press the heels of your hands to your eyes.

James stays quiet for a while, then speaks again, softer. “What’s your real name? The one from outside.”

“Oh my fucking god, can you not read the room??” you full on scoff.

But then again, how can he take this seriously— when he’s been stuck here, when all he knows is Blossom grove?

Does he even know what a home is?

“My names y/n.” you say quietly after a beat, defeated.

“Y/n,” he repeats, like he’s memorizing it. “Whats your life like out there? What do you do when you’re not here?”

You let out a deep sigh, truly wondering if you’re gonna spend the next few minutes talking about yourself to a video game character who belongs to a cursed game. Nothing about this is funny in the slightest.

“I- I game and I… well i don’t do anything other than that really.” you shrug, evasive.

You didn’t really have a habit of collecting hobbies, you were strictly into video games and it didn’t get any farther than that— oh maybe the occasional karaoke— you were pretty boring, bland even. So you tell him about Mei, about your boring psychology major and your boring uni friends. You tell him about the president — because apparently he was wondering— then you talk about your dog Juju who can’t stop farting in your bed, he laughs at that even though you doubt he knows what a fart is.

You find yourself talking to him about your incapacity to focus, to study for school and to be the perfect girl your parents always wanted you to be, your lack of interest for anything academic, and your penchant for procrastination.

James listens, does he really have anything else to do anyway? Probably not.

Here, in his world, you’re source of admiration, of curiosity— in your world, you’re a discord mod, a weird house rotting creature who looks hot only when her passions are ignored. You tell him about your favorite dishes, your favorite nail color— dark red, your favorite mismatched avocado socks, and your big gorilla sofa (advertised with Ai but you didn’t know at the time).

He listens with vehemence, like a fish who’s never been out of the water— and comments from time to time, asking what something is, and how it works.

You’re not sure if he’s trying to distract you of the fact that you’re currently stuck here- if it’s some kind of inside-game magic, but it’s definitely working.

Because as time passes, it starts to feel like you just invited him over for a chat.

“So, now that i’ve told you everything, are you gonna help me out?” you try with a small tentative smile.

“Well, it’s not that I don’t want to, it s just— nobody’s ever had this problem. All the players ended up leaving after a while…” James says, eyes dropping to the floor as if he’s embarrassed of not being able to help you.

“So it’s me then? I must’ve done something, I don’t know what though, but… maybe I should ask Jay?”

James straightens up all of a sudden, “No no, he’ll never help you. He’s not —he’s not really nice. Just… just finish the quests, and I think you should be good to go after that.”

James says it quickly, almost too quickly, his fingers tightening on the edge of the bed. He glances at you, then away again, like he’s not sure he should have said anything at all.

You let out a tired breath, shoulders slumping. “How long is that gonna take?”

“It’ll be easy,” he says after a pause. His voice is quieter now, almost reassuring in its own stiff way. “The affection meter goes up either way. Even if the dates aren’t… successful. The game still counts the time you spend with him. You don’t have to actually like him.”

You nod slowly, though the idea of dragging this out still makes your stomach twist. “Fine. I guess I’ll just… show up and let him talk until the bar fills.”

You rub your arms, suddenly aware again of how real everything feels —the fabric against your skin, the weight of the body you customized, the way James’s presence makes the room feel smaller.

“Well, i’ll sleep now…” you clear your throat, gesturing to the bed.

“I’ll be here,” James says simply. “Well not here obviously. But I’ll be around.” His eyes drop to your hands for a second before returning to your face.

You nod, pursing your lips, and as he stands up, he does a quick spin last minute. “Wait. Can I—”

James points at your chest, and you look down, eyebrows furrowed. “Huh?”

Is he pointing at your boobs right now?

“Can i feel it again?”

Oh.

You hesitate, heat rushing to your face.

This is weird. This is so fucking weird. He wants to feel your heartbeat again like it’s the most interesting thing in his entire existence.

Your mind spins, a messy mix of awkwardness, leftover panic, and something strangely vulnerable. Part of you wants to tell him no. The other part remembers how overwhelmed he looked the first time —like your heartbeat was proof the world could be more than scripted loops and automatisms.

Giving him a piece of your world wouldn’t hurt.

“…Okay,” you say softly, barely above a whisper.

James steps closer, innocence of a child and body of a man, you stay seated on the edge of the bed. He sits beside you again —closer this time— and gently lifts his hand.

His fingers are still cool as they rest against the center of your chest, right over your heart.

The moment his palm makes contact, the air feels thinner in your lungs. It’s intimate in a way that makes your face burn, the contact of a stranger, so manly yet so clueless. You can feel every steady thump-thump-thump against his hand, faster than before. James goes very still, eyes locked on the spot where his hand meets your sweater, then slowly drifting up to your face.

He looks at you like he’s never seen a real person before. Like you’re the first woman he’s ever experienced, the first woman he’s ever touched.

His breath catches. The flush returns to his cheeks, darker this time, spreading to his ears. His fingers press just a little firmer, not pushing, just feeling —completely absorbed by the constant, living rhythm beneath them.

He feels jealousy, pain, a pull, everything all at once— he wants a heart too, he wants to be able to to feel it thump in his own chest, to feel its havoc.

“It’s… stronger now,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe. “Faster.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, the way he’s looking at you like you’re something miraculous— it’s confusing and strangely disarming. You just sit there, letting him feel the proof that you’re alive, warm, and temporary in his world.

James doesn’t pull away, he just stays there, overwhelmed and quiet, memorizing the feeling of a heart that’s beating incredibly fast because of him— like it might disappear the second you finally find your way home.

Good morning, Y/N! 💕 Today’s Event: Sunrise Stroll & Confession Corner with Jay! Walk along the Blossom Grove cherry blossom path with Jay. Share a quiet moment as the sun rises. Special heart-sharing event! Success greatly increases affection.

You stare at the floating text, stomach already twisting. The memory of last night. No exit button. No escape.

You get dressed in another outfit the game provided and head out. The town is bathed in warm morning light, petals drifting lazily as always, some getting in your nose.

Jay is waiting at the entrance to the cherry blossom path, looking annoyingly perfect in his stylish outfit.

“My shooting star! You look radiant today,” he says with a bright smile, offering his arm. “Ready for the most romantic walk of your life? The sunset here is almost as beautiful as you are.”

“Oh you’re doing too damn much” you give a strained smile, because even if you’re rude he won’t even notice anyway, he’s that delusional.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and take his arm. The date begins.

The path is stunning — tunnels of pink and white blossoms overhead, golden sunlight filtering through, a gentle breeze carrying the sweet scent. Jay keeps up a steady stream of corny lines the entire time.

“Every step with you feels like a new level unlocked,” he says at one point, affection meter ticking up slowly. “You’re my favorite quest. Final boss of my heart.”

You give minimal responses, mostly humming or nodding— when you all you want to do is cuss him out.

True to his word, James is around. You catch glimpses of his hooded figure on rooftops, behind trees, or leaning against distant lanterns. He never gets too close, but every time Jay gets overly touchy —brushing your hair, holding your hand too long —something small goes wrong.

A branch drops petals right in Jay’s face.

A sudden gust messes up his perfectly styled hair.

A loose cobblestone makes him stumble.

Jay grows visibly irritated as the afternoon turns to evening. “Why is everything trying to ruin our perfect moment today?” “I don’t know, ever think maybe you’re ruining it yourself?” you say through your teeth.

“Haha, you’re so funny.” Jay smirks, “I’ve never met someone truly like you.”

The sun begins to rise, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. You reach the Confession Corner —a cute wooden bench under the biggest cherry blossom tree, overlooking the town fountain.

Jay turns to you, taking both your hands— the affection meter hovering around 45%.

His expression turns dramatically sincere.

“Y/n… being with you these past days has made me realize something,” he says, voice dropping into full romance mode. He leans in slowly, eyes half-closed. “I think I’m ready for our first kiss. I want this moment to be perfect.”

Oh for fuck’s sake, how corny can this get—

You freeze.

At the exact same second, something flies from the rooftop above —a small, overripe peach— and smacks Jay square in the side of the head with a wet thwack.

His eyes widen for a split second before they roll back. He collapses like a ragdoll, unconscious, landing in a heap on the grass with petals gently falling over him.

You stand there stunned, mouth slightly open.

“What in the—”

James drops down from the rooftop in one fluid motion. He doesn’t even glance at Jay’s motionless body— almost like it’s not the first time he’s done this.

“Let’s go”

Without a word, he walks straight to you, grabs your hand firmly, and starts pulling you away from the scene, leading you deeper into the lantern-lit winding paths of the town.

You glance back once at Jay’s unconscious form, then at James. Your heart is still racing from the sudden chaos.

“Was that— was that necessary??” you snort, half terrified half amused. You don’t even know anymore.

“Yes, I didn’t like the way he was looking at you” James says, hand gripping yours.“And the affection meter already updated anyway.”

“But, isn’t there like— a police in this place? Aren’t you gonna get in trouble?”

James glances sideways at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “There’s no police. Just a few background NPCs who reset every morning. No one’s coming.”

The town paths are quiet this time of morning, only a couple of distant NPC villagers wandering by with empty, pleasant smiles. No alarms. No consequences.

You squeeze his hand lightly. “Show me around then? Somewhere that isn’t scripted, i’ve got time to kill.”

James doesn’t hesitate. He changes direction, leading you past the cozy shops and toward the edge of Blossom Grove.

The cobblestones eventually give way to soft grass as the town lights fade behind you. He brings you to a vast, open field on the outskirts. It’s huge and breathtaking —rolling hills covered in wildflowers glowing softly under the light, cherry blossom trees scattered like gentle guardians at the edges, and a wide, blue sky above.

James lets go of your hand only when you both sit down in the soft grass. He keeps a small distance, but not as much as before.

The wind here feels freer, less sweetened by the town’s constant vanilla scent.

“So what’s your deal with Jay?” you ask, hugging your knees.

James stares out at the field for a moment. “We’ve just… kinda been stuck here together for the longest time. He’s a dick. Too cocky for his own good. He’s always been the main lead. I’ve kinda always been on the sidelines, you know? Background NPC. So I grew to hate him somehow.”

It must be so annoying living in Jay’s shadow, someone that robotic shouldn’t even deserve any attention.

“Mmh, I see. Must be tough being here... Is it always a loop? What do you even do in here when the player isn’t here?” you interrogate next, out of genuine curiosity.

You can’t envision a world without 7billion people polluting and accelerating the global warming, committing crimes and being insufferable. Well turns out in his world, there’s only one nemesis, and it’s Jay.

James lies back in the grass, looking up at the sky. “It’s mostly loops. The same days repeat. The same events. I watch Jay run through the same routes with different players. Sometimes I walk the same paths. Sometimes I try changing small things— moving a flower pot, standing in a different spot, saying something that’s not in my dialogue tree. But everything always resets by morning. It’s… quiet. Empty.”

He stays quiet for a moment, then continues, voice low. “When no player is here, I mostly just exist. I go to the field sometimes. Think about what it would be like if the loops broke. I’ve tried leaving the town borders before, but I always end up back at the starting square the next day. So I wait. For the next player. For something different.”

He wants to continue- he wants to say, you’re the ‘something different’, but that would be naive. Just because you’ve given him a taste of your world doesn’t mean you’re singular.

“Sounds awful,” you say softly. “I don’t know how you do it.”

James lets out a small, dry sound —not quite a laugh. “Well, I don’t really have a choice. I can’t really get out of here now, can I?”

You laugh too, the sound surprising even you. “Yeah, I guess. I’d take you with me if I could. Maybe help you find a nice little apartment, help you get into college or something.” The words were meant as a joke at first, but then you realize how silly they sound and wince. “I’m sorry, I’m stupid”

James sits up slowly, turning to look at you with wide, earnest eyes. “No. No, continue. I wanna hear about it.”

You hesitate, then keep going. “I mean… it’d be weird at first. You’d probably hate how loud and messy everything is out there. There’s no reset button. No perfect pink skies every day. But at least there’s real food, there’s music that doesn’t loop,you can actually listen to whatever song you want. You could learn how to cook, or play actual video games instead of being in one. I could show you my favorite late-night ramen place, or take you to a concert. It’d be a mess, but at least it’d be real.”

James listens with complete awe, like every word you say is rewriting something inside him. He can see your world through you, and he loves every bit of it.

“I wish I could come back with you,” he says after a long silence, voice rough. “But people would find me weird there. My body isn’t like yours, I don’t have a… heart.”

You shake your head gently. “That’s fine. People in the real world never get close enough to feel it anyway. They don’t really care about those things, so you should be good.”

James looks at you, surprised. “They don’t? I thought—” He pauses, brow furrowing as he processes it. “I guess that makes sense why people play this game then.”

“Yeah, i think people invented these games to feel things. To have someone look at them like they matter. To hear stupid lines and pretend it’s real for a while.” you complete for him. “Even if Jay’s not the best, and he’s annoying, I still think some people crave to be interesting in someone’s eyes. To go on silly dates and eat strawberries. It’s part of— of how humans are.”

For a long moment James doesn’t speak, just absorbing your words like they’re something sacred— like he’s getting an insight on humans, like reading a book.

“I’ve seen hundreds of players,” he says eventually, voice low. “Most of them laugh at Jay’s lines at first, then lean into it. They like the fantasy. The perfect guy who always knows what to say. They want to feel chosen.” He looks down at his own hand, flexing his fingers slowly. “I used to hate them for it. For picking him every time. But now I get it. A little. Because I don’t know how to do these things, I don’t know how to flirt— and kiss, and whatever the heck he does, i’ve never been like that.”

He turns his head toward you again, the jealousy from earlier still simmering underneath Jay’s name.

“But you feel a hundred times more real. I’m not even sure how you can be a script, you speak, and think like a human. You articulate your thoughts and I understand you. There’s nothing robotic about you.”

James gives a small tired smile, “Do you think we’re the same?”

You nod, convinced, “You might not have a heart but you’re strangely like me yes. Maybe they messed you up in the program.”

The man snorts, amused. “I’m pretty sure they did, I’ve always been… more aware, of what was going on around me. Jay never was. He’s never questioned it, he just plays along and never looks past anything.”

Your worlds were quite the same in a selfish way; feeling like you were way too aware— way too observant, in the margins, for a world too small, wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling to you.

The next days were made of ridiculously over the top dates. Jay had apparently woken up on the ground of the confession center, with zero memory of the peach incident. He simply restarted the loop convinced you two had “lost track of each other during the romantic sunset.” The game smoothed it over like nothing happened. That day, James had taken you back to the room, you’d fallen asleep, woken up to a brand new quest, and the loop went on and on again.

So the cycle continued. Ridiculously over the top dates. Picnics with heart-shaped everything. Boat rides on a glowing pond where Jay sang (badly). A fireworks festival where he compared every explosion to “the spark in your eyes.”

James was always somewhere nearby —sabotaging in increasingly creative and petty ways. A sudden raincloud over Jay alone. A flock of overly enthusiastic doves. One memorable time, an entire table of desserts mysteriously flipped itself.

But still, no kiss. Thank God.

You always ended up alone with the side character— visiting parts of Blossom grove that dates with Jay didn’t allow, talking about everything and nothing, sometimes just standing close without a sound.

You told about things you’d never told anyone, because he was stuck here, so your secrets were undoubtedly safe, and also because there was something easy to trust about him, the way you wouldn’t trust a machine.

One evening after a particularly painful fireworks date with Jay (where he compared every explosion to “the fireworks you set off in me”), James had silently taken your hand and led you to the wildflower field on the outskirts. You both lay on your backs in the grass, shoulders touching, watching digital stars flicker into existence above you.

You told him about the crushing pressure of uni, how you’d chosen psychology because it sounded impressive to your parents but now felt like a daily reminder that you couldn’t even figure out your own mind. James listened without scripted responses, just quiet “mmhs” and the occasional question that showed he was actually trying to understand.

When you admitted you sometimes felt like you were wasting your life on games and procrastination, he turned his head toward you and said, “At least you get to choose what you waste it on. I’m glad you do.”

Another time, after James had sabotaged a boat ride by making the oars mysteriously disappear, the two of you hid in an old, forgotten gazebo covered in ivy. You ended up sitting on the wooden railing, legs swinging, sharing a stolen basket of strawberries he’d swiped from one of Jay’s picnic setups.

You confessed your fear of becoming exactly like your parents wanted— polished, successful, miserable.

James, in return, told you about the hundreds of loops he’d lived through, how every player eventually left and the town reset, leaving him with nothing but echoes. “With you i’m not just decoration” he said softly, juice from a strawberry staining his fingers. You wiped it away with your thumb without thinking, and the silence that followed felt heavier than any confession.

There were quieter moments too. Once, after a long day, you found him waiting on the roof of your cozy house. No words at first—just the two of you standing shoulder to shoulder, watching the cherry blossoms. His pinky brushed yours, then hooked gently.

You stayed like that for what felt like hours, breathing the same air, existing in the same fragile pocket of time.

You told him about your dog Juju’s ridiculous habits, the way you sometimes cried during cutscenes in single-player games because the characters felt more real than most people.

He listened like every word was rewriting his code. In exchange, he showed you little treasures he’d collected across resets: a perfectly round pebble, a bent paperclip from who-knows-where, a single playing card (the ace of hearts, naturally). “They’re proof that things can stay,” he explained one night, voice barely above a whisper as he placed them in your hands. “Even when everything else resets.”

The more time you spent with him, the easier it became to forget this was supposed to be temporary. James never pushed. He never demanded. He simply showed up—hood up, eyes watchful, presence steady— and slowly, without either of you realizing it at first, he became the reason you looked forward to the end of Jay’s dates.

Today’s Event: Starlight Rooftop Dinner with Jay!

You’re standing on a beautifully decorated rooftop terrace, string lights twinkling overhead, a small table set with candles and way too many rose petals.

Jay pulls your chair out with a flourish.

“My shooting star! Tonight, the stars themselves are jealous of how brightly you shine,” he says, voice dripping with cheese. “I had the chefs prepare a seven-course meal, each dish representing a different reason why I’m falling for you.”

He spends the first twenty minutes explaining every single plate while you audibly and visibly cringe.

“This pasta? It’s tangled together like our destined fates.”

“This salad? Fresh and crisp… just like the feeling I get every time you smile at me.”

Oh kill me already, you think.

“This dessert —chocolate lava cake— because my heart melts every time you’re near.”

You’re barely responding, just nodding and making small noises while the affection meter crawls upward.

Since when is your patience so high?

Maybe it’s because James is somewhere close. You can feel it.

Jay leans forward, eyes sparkling under the fairy lights. “Y/n… these past days with you have made me realize something important.” He reaches across the table and takes your hand. “I think you’re my endgame. My player two. My—”

A loud crash echoes from the side of the rooftop.

One of the decorative potted plants suddenly topples over, spilling dirt everywhere. Jay jumps up, startled. Then another pot goes down. And another. Like invisible hands are knocking them over one by one.

“What the—?!” Jay shouts.

James appears on the opposite edge of the rooftop, looking far too innocent. He “accidentally” kicks the last large planter. It rolls dramatically and bumps Jay’s leg, making him stumble backward into the dessert table.

James appears on the opposite edge of the rooftop, looking far too innocent. He “accidentally” kicks the last large planter and it rolls dramatically, bumps Jay’s leg, making him stumble backward into the dessert table.

The entire thing collapses in the most cartoonish way possible —chocolate lava cake exploding upward, plates flying, candles tipping over.

Jay lands flat on his ass in a pile of frosting and rose petals.

You can’t help it- you burst out laughing, clutching your mouth.

Jay’s face turns bright red with genuine anger this time. “That’s it!” he snarls, scrambling to his feet, frosting still smeared on his cheek. “I’ve had enough of you, you glitchy side character!”

He charges at James.

You can’t feel your lungs anymore from how hard you’re laughing, you swear you’ve never laughed this hard before. You need a reality check, this isn’t real life.

James’s eyes widen- not with fear, but with a flash of wicked amusement —and he takes off running across the rooftops.

The main lead chases after him, shouting threats and slipping on frosting every few steps.

You grab one last fancy cupcake and hurry after them without thinking. They disappear over the edge of the next building, and you lose sight of them as you scramble down a set of stairs into the town streets, breathing hard. You turn a corner into a narrow, dimly lit alleyway between two pastel shops-heart lanterns flickering softly— but there’s no sign of James.

The street is empty, no NPcs, no petals, just facades that look made out of cardboard.

Suddenly, a hand grabs your arm and yanks you sideways into the shadows.

Before you can make a sound, James presses his back against the alley wall and pulls you flush against him, his hand firmly covering your mouth. His other arm wraps around your waist to keep you steady.

You’re chest to chest now, empty chest to full chest.

His eyes are wide, sparkling with adrenaline and barely contained laughter as he listens for any sign of Jay, breathing slightly ragged. The alley is tight, forcing you impossibly close.

He looks human from this angle, his soft blonde hair spiking upwards from how fast he ran, his features are unrealistically accurate, pores, sweat. He’s the copy of a human, only without its principal organ.

You’re honest, you’d gathered this wasn’t a normal game from the second you’d started it. But it takes a lot to scare someone who was already trying to escape their original world.

In this moment while James’ hand stays pressed gently but securely over your mouth, his face inches from yours— the playful spark in his eyes slowly shifts into something heavier, as the seconds stretch.

Neither of you moves. The only sounds are your heartbeat (loud in your own ears) and the distant, fading shouts of a very angry, very frosting-covered Jay somewhere in the distance.

James’ eyes bore in yours, like he’s seeing something there. “Your eyes— there’s always something moving behind them. I never know what color they’ll be.”

The hand covering your mouth doesn’t move, but his thumb brushes lightly against your cheek in an almost absentminded caress. The alley feels smaller, all of a sudden, your words dying in your throat.

Your heart is hammering so hard you’re sure he can feel it against his chest. Does he know the difference between a heart that beats faster just because of him— and a heart that only serves its purpose of pumping blood?

James’s breath ghosts across your skin as he leans in just a fraction more, studying you. No human has ever made you feel like this, so why is it that a fictional thing— the fruit of machines, is making you feel so unguarded?

“I’ve watched so many players,” he whispers, hand still gently muffling your mouth, “but none of them looked back at me like this.“

The moment stretches, thick and breathless, his fingers tremble slightly against your lips.

The jealousy, the curiosity, the raw want to understand you — to feel more of you- to be filled with your humanity — is written all over his face.

The moment breaks when James hears Jay’s shouts finally fade into the distance. He blinks, as if coming back to himself, and slowly pulls his hand away from your mouth. His fingers linger for half a second against your cheek before he clears his throat, stepping back as much as the narrow alley allows. 

“…Sorry,” he mutters. “It sounded funny in my mind, the plant.”

You let out a short, breathless laugh, still trying to process everything. “You’re actually insane, you’ve already knocked him out and now this?”

James gives you the tiniest smirk, the tension easing just a little. “Come on. Let’s get you back before he loops around again.”

The walk back is quiet, he keeps close, guiding you through side streets and behind buildings, making sure Jay doesn’t see the two of you together.

When you finally reach your cozy house, he sneaks you toward the door like a criminal.

But just as you’re about to slip inside, Jay’s voice echoes from the end of the street —still annoyed and frosting-free after presumably resetting.

You panic, grab James by the front of his hoodie, and yank him inside with you. You slam the door shut and quickly close the windows, heart racing again.

Both of you freeze, backs pressed against the wall, listening. When Jay’s footsteps eventually pass by without stopping, you both muffle your laughter, shoulders shaking.

“He’s so scary.” you breathe out, wiping the nonexistent sweat on your forehead. You gesture vaguely at the frilly bed. “You can stay for a bit… if you want. In case he comes back.”

He nods and sits on the far edge of the bed.

“I’m almost at the end of the affection meter,” you say after a while, staring at the floor. “I’ll probably be able to go back soon enough.”

“Yeah,” James replies, voice quiet. “I’m glad.” He doesn’t sound glad at all. “you’re lucky Jay doesn’t exist in your world.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Actually, he does. There’s a lot of guys like him out there. All cocky and polished. I always used to hate them.”

James turns his head toward you. “And me? Are there guys like me out there?”

You think about it for a long moment. It’s a complicated question, not one you can answer without sounding crazy.

“No, not really,” you say softly. “There’s plenty of heartless guys… but you, even though you don’t have a heart, you’re still full of feelings. So no… I guess not.”

James stays quiet, processing your words. The silence stretches comfortably between you until you continue, voice gentler.

“You can feel mine from different points, you know. Just like you —your heart’s in your eyes, and in your mouth when you speak. That’s slightly different… but is it that different?”

He looks at you, curious and a little lost. “Can you show me?”

You hesitate, then hold out your wrist to him. “Here. Feel.”

James gently takes your wrist in both hands, fingers pressing lightly against your skin. You can see the fascination return to his face as he feels the steady pulse.

“That’s my radial pulse,” you explain. “It’s connected straight to my heart.”

He nods slowly, thumb brushing over the spot in quiet awe.

You guide his hand higher, to the side of your neck. “This is my jugular. It’s stronger here. If someone cut here… I’d be gone in seconds.”

His fingers rest carefully against your neck, feeling the throb of your pulse. His eyes are wide again, breathing shallow.

Then you move his hand to your temple. “And here. These are my temples. See? We’re actually quite the same. My heart’s everywhere. Just in different places.”

James doesn’t speak for a long long time. His hand stays gently on your temple, feeling the rhythm of your blood, the undeniable proof of life running through you. He looks at you like you’re unraveling the entire universe for him, one heartbeat at a time.

“You should think about it this way,” you tell him softly, still guiding his fingers against your temple. “Your heart’s there somewhere. It’s just not beating loud.”

The words leave your mouth and something inside you twists sharply. What the hell are you doing? You’re deep in this —way too deep— comforting and explaining basic human biology to an NPC who technically doesn’t even exist outside this cursed game.

You’ve gone so deep into a quest for connection, one you’d never noticed before— that you’re looking to comfort a machine.

The realization hits you like cold water. You pull his hand away from your temple, letting it drop.

James blinks, confused. “No… let me feel it again,” he asks, voice quiet but urgent. He reaches back toward you, almost pleading. “When you— when you let me feel it, it feels like it’s mine. Like it’s beating out of my own body.”

And God, that’s heartbreaking. Pity floods through you, heavy and aching.

He’s so hungry for anything real, anything that proves he’s more than background code. And here you are, feeding that hunger even though you know you’ll probably disappear soon.

You hesitate, then sigh. “Come here.”

You shift back on the bed and lie down against the pile of frilly pillows. Your heart is pounding as you pat the space on your chest.

“Put your head here.”

James stares at you for a second, like he can’t believe you just offered. Then he moves carefully, almost reverently, and lowers himself beside you. He rests his head on your chest, ear pressed right over your heartbeat and his arm drapes lightly across your waist, careful not to hold too tight.

You feel him exhale slowly as he settles. It’s so silly, but so beautiful, letting him inside your veins like that.

“How does it feel?” you ask gently, your hand hovering for a moment before resting lightly on his hair.

“It’s… strong,” he murmurs against you, eyes closing. “Steady. I can hear it in my ear… and then it echoes a little in my head. Like it’s spreading.”

You nod, fingers slowly threading through his blonde hair. “That kind of feeling is when you have a really bad headache usually. Or when you’re under a lot of panic or stress. Your body’s trying to push more blood around.”

James stays perfectly still, listening. After a few moments, you feel his body gradually relax against yours —the tension in his shoulders melting, his breathing slowing to match the rhythm under his ear.

This is the safest you’ve felt ever in your life, and it’s sad that it’s with a machine.

James lets out a slow, contented breath against you, his ear still pressed firmly over your heartbeat. His arm tightens just a fraction around your waist possessively.

He wants to say the words, he wants to say you’re his human— only his. His scientific discovery, his beautiful excavated archeological evidence.

“I can feel it everywhere,” he whispers. “Not just here. It’s like it’s traveling through me.” His voice cracks the tiniest bit. “I didn’t know anything could feel like this.”

James stays quiet for a beat again, enjoying the peace of your heart then he speaks, voice soft and hesitant.

“Would you like Jay more— if he had a heartbeat?”

There’s no part of you that could ever like Jay, let alone tolerate him.

You shake your head, letting out a small laugh despite everything. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

He lifts his head slightly to look at you, eyes searching. “Well… maybe you want to lay on someone’s chest and feel their heart too, no? Maybe if he had that, you could want him.”

You shake your head again, still smiling. “I wouldn’t. A heartbeat is nothing if it doesn’t pump to his brain.” You laugh softly at your own words.

James watches you for a moment, something unreadable in his expression.

Then he reaches into the pocket of his hoodie and pulls out a small, strange-looking recording device. It’s compact, slightly glitchy around the edges, like something that doesn’t quite belong in the game’s usual aesthetic.

You don’t even ask where he got it from, would you even get an answer ?

He sits up a little and gently places the device on your chest, right over your heart.

“Be quiet,” he whispers.

He presses record.

The device hums softly as it captures the steady thump of your heartbeat. You stay perfectly still, barely breathing, watching his focused face the entire time. When he finally stops the recording, he looks at you with aquiet vulnerability.

“Is this okay?” he asks. “Can I keep it? For when you’re gone.”

You nod, biting your lip hard to keep from getting overwhelmed— your eyes sting a little, but you hold it together.

James lies back down beside you. He places the recorder on his own chest, exactly where a heart should be, and presses play— the soft, rhythmic sound of your heartbeat filling the quiet.

He closes his eyes, listening like it’s his favorite sound. Like even the birds singing, and the most beautiful songs couldn’t top this.

You watch him, click the way his eyebrows un-furrow, his whole face basking in the vibrations of your staccato heart.

After a few seconds, a small chuckle escapes him. “We share a heart now.”

How can a machine, a program, be so unsettlingly honest, so raw? How can it make you feel things that you haven’t felt in years, in the space of a few incalculable days?

You smile, warmth spreading through your chest despite everything.

James gestures to his chest with a shy tilt of his head. “Your turn now.”

You shift carefully and lay your head on his chest, ear pressed against the recorder. It’s a little uncomfortable — hard plastic against your cheek — but you don’t care. You close your eyes and listen to your own heartbeat playing through him.

It’s strangely intimate, he borrowed your heartbeat the way a starving man borrows sunlight

James threads his fingers gently through your hair, slow and careful, like he’s afraid you might glitch if he moves too fast. His other hand rests lightly on your back, holding you there.

The absurdity of it all eventually fades into exhaustion.

Your eyes grow heavy, and for the first time in months you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

You wake up slowly, warm sunlight filtering through the lace curtains. James is still there —curled against you, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist, his chin now tucked on top of your head. His breathing is slow and even, face relaxed in sleep in a way you’ve never seen before.

You stay still for a long moment, watching him. The way his dark lashes rest against his cheeks, the faint furrow that’s usually between his brows now smoothed out.

Somewhere in the code, there was a version of the story where he never met you. The tragedy was that you knew it.

Carefully, you reach over and turn off the recorder still resting on his chest. The soft sound of your heartbeat cuts offas you slip out from under him as gently as possible and get changed.

As you finish adjusting your clothes, a bright notification pops up in bubbly pink font:

Final Event: Starlight Confession at the Blossom Grove Overlook! Today Jay will confess his true feelings. Share a kiss to seal your love story! Affection Meter: 92% — One moment left to reach 100%

And how funny, that his meter took days to fill out while James’ took hours, minutes.

James stirs behind you. You turn and see him watching you quietly as you braid your hair in front of the small mirror, gaze soft, almost sad.

“I’ve gotta go,” you say, voice a little rough. “Final event.”

He nods and gets up without argument. “I’ll meet you there,” he says quietly. “Separately.”

He leaves through the window first. But he doesn’t go far.

You’re still standing in front of the little mirror, fingers halfway through braiding your hair, when James’s head pops back in through the open window.

“Forgot something,” he says, voice low but trying to sound casual.

You raise an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Yeah? What’s that?”

He climbs halfway back inside, elbows resting on the windowsill, watching you with a soft, slightly crooked smile. “You.”

Before you can respond, he reaches out and gently tugs the half-finished braid from your fingers. “Let me.”

You let him. Of course you do.

James is clumsy with it — his cool fingers fumble with the strands, clearly having no idea what he’s doing —but he’s so focused, tongue poking slightly out the corner of his mouth in concentration, that it’s impossible not to laugh.

“You’re terrible at this,” you snort, shoulders shaking.

“I’m learning,” he mutters, mock-offended. “I like it, Makes you look… like you’re staying a little longer.”

The words hang gently between you. You both know what today is.

You lean back against his chest as he keeps awkwardly braiding, his chin eventually resting on top of your head.

Then James clears his throat. “So… you’re really going to kiss that idiot today.”

“Unfortunately,” you sigh dramatically. “Duty calls. Someone has to max out the world’s most annoying meter.”

He huffs a quiet laugh against your hair. “Tell him I said hi. Right before I punch him in the stomach.”

You grin. “Yeah make it look like an accident. Maybe trip and headbutt his perfect teeth.”

James chuckles — a real, warm sound that vibrates through his chest into your back. He finishes the braid (crooked, with several loose strands sticking out) and ties it off with a little pink ribbon he somehow produced from his pocket.

“Perfect,” he declares proudly, even though it’s clearly not.

You turn in his arms to face him, still half-sitting on the windowsill. “It’s lopsided as hell.”

“It’s nice, a nice little braid,” he argues, brushing a stray petal from your cheek with his thumb. His expression softens again. “You look pretty”

On the way to the overlook, your mind wanders. Back home there’s an unfinished assignment, empty Monster cans, Mei probably worried sick- a normal, lonely life. The thought of leaving this place —of leaving James— feels strangely bittersweet. You’ve only been here a short time, but it already feels more real than half the things waiting for you outside. He feels more real than any real human.

Is this what people feel when they truly reach something deep? The fear of letting it go, the ache of knowing it only started and it’s already over?

No one to be surprised by your humanity anymore, just a room with a PC and thousands of games that don’t contain him.

Jay is waiting at the beautiful overlook, the whole town sparkling below under golden sunlight. He lights up when he sees you. Needless to say you don’t.

“My shooting star! These past days with you have been the greatest adventure of my life,” he says, taking your hands dramatically. “We’ve bonded so much. I feel like you know me better than anyone else ever could.”

What happened to ‘hello’ ‘how are you’ ?

You’ve barely spoken more than a few minutes at a time, you think, fighting the urge to burst out laughing. But you play along, smiling and nodding to push the meter higher.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” Jay continues, voice full of scripted sincerity. “Every moment with you is like a new chapter in our perfect story. You make me want to be the best version of myself. You complete me, Y/N.”

Stupid computer. You let it do its thing, spit out Ai digested romantic prompts with no meaning at all.

The affection meter climbs steadily: 94%… 96%… 98%.

Jay steps closer, eyes half-lidded. “I love you. Truly. Can I… kiss you?”

Love you? Oh my…

You swallow your disgust, just get it over with. “Yes.”

He leans in, lips puckered dramatically, you swear you could throw up in your mouth anytime but you suck it up. This is for a good cause. So instead you count sheep in your head, sing the national anthem— anything to shake off the feeling of his weird—

Suddenly, someone grabs him from behind by the neck and yanks him into a brutal chokehold. You can’t even say anything, the male lead is completely silent, mouth comically open.

James. Of course it’s James.

His face is dark with raw jealousy, eyes burning as he pulls Jay away from you.

The latter makes a strangled sound, flailing but James doesn’t let go, dragging him down to the ground in a surprisingly violent but still slightly comical struggle. Jay kicks and gasps until his eyes roll back and he goes limp, unconscious once again.

James stands over him, breathing hard, fists clenched. He turns to you, voice tight. “Is the meter maxed?”

Straight to business.

You check. It’s still at 98%. It probably didn’t count as anything since —thanks to him— you didn’t get to kiss the man.

“No… fuck not yet.” you palm your eyes, exhausted.

James’s jaw tightens, you can see how much this is costing him. How bad he wanted to kill that man for even thinking he could steal from him again.

The tragedy is that Jay was the designated route, the one the game rewards and James was just a side character who accidentally learns what longing is.

He know it, you know it, hell— even the game knows it.

You hesitate, staring down at Jay’s unconscious form sprawled dramatically among the scattered rose petals and golden sunlight.

This is it. One stupid, scripted kiss and the meter hits 100%. One kiss and you can finally leave this pink-tinted fever dream.

Your stomach twists.

The thought of pressing your lips to Jay’s— even while he’s out cold— feels wrong on every level. Not because he’s gross (though he very much is), but because James is standing right there, chest heaving, eyes locked on you like you’re about to carve his imaginary heart out of his chest and hand it to him.

James’s fists are already clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles have gone bone-white. A muscle jumps violently in his jaw, raw, ugly jealousy burns in his dark eyes.

He looks like he wants to kick Jay’s unconscious body off the overlook and into the town square below- like he’s barely stopping himself from doing it.

How does a machine develop this level of awareness— to feel jealousy over someone that isn’t even theirs?

You swallow hard. You have to. You can’t stay trapped here forever, you have a life. Sort of.

This… whatever this is isn’t real, it’s just a form of escapism because your life is too dull to content with.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You’re not sure if you’re saying it to James, to yourself, or to the universe that let this cursed headset drag you into a dating sim.

You kneel slowly beside Jay’s limp body- the grass is soft under your knees. His face is slack, lips slightly parted in that ridiculous, perfect way the game designed him to look even when knocked out.

You lean down, heart hammering so loudly you’re sure James can hear it from where he stands.

Your lips brush Jay’s— brief, mechanical, cold. No spark. No warmth. Just plasticine contact that tastes like artificial and scripted longing. You pull back almost immediately, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand like you can erase the moment.

The affection meter above the unconscious man’s head flares bright pink and shoots up the final two percent.

Final Event Complete! 💕 Affection with Jay: 100% Route Unlocked: True Ending — Blossom Grove Eternal Love! Congratulations, Y/n! You’ve captured the heart of Blossom Grove’s golden boy~

your eyes lift immediately to James. He stands a few frozen feet away, fists clenched so tightly at his sides that the tendons stand out like wires under his skin. His jaw is locked, a muscle feathering rapidly.

He won’t meet your gaze.

Those dark eyes that once drank in your every blink are fixed somewhere on the ground, raw jealousy carving deep lines into his face.

The pull grows stronger, but you ignore it, you step toward James, reach out, and gently take one of his clenched fists in both your hands.

“One last time?”

He doesn’t look at you.

But after a long, pained beat, he nods— vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache. You haven’t even told him, but he already knows what you’re referring to.

He sinks to his knees right there on the overlook grass, you stay standing as he leans forward, pressing his head against your chest, ear flush over your heart. His arms come around your waist, holding on.

He’s aware of his own disposability. That’s heartbreaking.

You thread your fingers through his hair as his breathing syncs to the rhythm beneath his ear. The world is shimmering harder now, edges softening, but you don’t pull away.

You were the first miracle that ever happened to a man made of instructions.

And the cruelest thing about being human was wanting things so deeply. Without even knowing why. Without knowing what it was.

James stays like that for several heartbeats— listening, memorizing— before he finally lifts his head.

His eyes are glassy, wide with something between awe and desperation as he looks up at you.

“You’re really gonna go now?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, throat tight.

“Look, I know we were fast, and I know we missed some steps, I know, God I know,” he says, words tumbling out raw and urgent. His hands stay anchored at your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your clothes. “But y/n, you can’t. Just a little more please? Just a little more. I swear I’ll let you go after.”

In his eyes you see something so devastatingly humane, the look of someone who wants something he can’t have badly.

“You kept insisting I have a heart for so long that even I started looking for it.” he continues, “So don’t go now. Stay with me for a bit.”

The world doesn’t vanish, it simply waits—patient, glitching faintly at the edges like static on an old screen— for you to consciously press the exit button that now hovers persistently in your peripheral vision.

The game is stalled, holding its breath.

You nod slowly, throat tight.

One more moment, just one. You’ve already sold a kiss to a scripted doll for your freedom; what’s a few more minutes with the only person here who ever looked at you like you were real?

James exhales shakily against your chest, then rises to his feet. His hand finds yours, cool fingers threading through your warmer ones with quiet desperation. “I wanna show you a place,” he says, voice low and rough. “Before you go.”

You let him lead you down from the overlook. The two of you walk hand-in-hand through the lantern-lit streets of Blossom Grove— thhe usual cheerful chiptune music feels distant and muted, NPCs frozen mid-wave or mid-step as the game glitches around your deviation. Cherry blossoms still drift, but slower, almost hesitant.

The cobblestones give way to a quieter path on the outskirts— James guides you toward a small, tucked-away cottage half-hidden by wild overgrowth and low-hanging blossom branches.

It’s nothing like the bright pastel homes in town— this one is darker, weathered wood with deep teal and muted gray tones, ivy climbing the walls, a single dim lantern glowing beside the door. The windows are narrow, the roof slightly sloped like it’s tired from carrying endless loops.

It feels lived-in, secret. Human.

He pushes the door open. “This is… mine. When the loops reset, I come back here. It’s off-script.”

Inside is cozy in a melancholic way— low ceilings, shelves crammed with odd little treasures, soft blankets piled on a worn couch, a single window overlooking the wildflower field.

James gives you a quiet tour, never letting go of your hand. He stops at each object with careful reverence.

“This rock,” he says, picking up a smooth, dark stone with faint glittering veins. “Found it on the third loop after a player left. It’s heavier than the others. Feels… solid. Real.” He places it in your palm. “I keep it because it doesn’t change.”

He moves to a small shelf. “This cracked teacup. Jay knocked it over during one of his perfect picnics. I kept the pieces. Glued it back wrong on purpose.” A faint, almost-smile. “It’s imperfect.”

Another item: a single pressed wildflower, dried between pages of a blank book. “You laughed at one of his lines near this flower once. I picked it the next morning.”

These aren’t things computers are supposed to do, put feelings inside objects.

You turn one of the objects over in your hands, throat tight. “These things… they make you human, James. Collecting memories. Holding onto what matters.”

He looks at you, eyes soft and aching. “I’ll always be grateful that you let me get close. You let me feel it through you— and you keep saying these sweet words, I don’t even know why.”

“There doesn’t need to be a ‘why’, i’m saying these things because they are real. I think we’re much more alike than you think.”

A long silence stretches during which the cottage feels insanely smaller.

Then, quietly he says: “If you’ll let me… I want to feel your heart again. For the last time.”

You hesitate, heat rising in your face, but nod. You’ll give this beautiful, sensitive boy what he wants before he stays in a prison for the rest of his days.

“Yes. But wait.” You gesture for him to turn around.

He does without question, facing the wall.

You pull off your t-shirt, letting it drop, and stand there in just your bra, skin prickling in the cool air. “Okay.”

You guide him toward the simple bed in the corner— narrow, with a dark quilt. You ease his t-shirt up and over his head, revealing the smooth, cool expanse of his chest.

There’s no heartbeat, just quiet skin and the faint tension of someone trying desperately to be more.

You both lie down. Skin to skin. The contrast is immediate— his body cool and still against your living warmth.

You feel every inch where you touch: the press of his chest to yours, the subtle shift of muscle as he breathes, the way your heartbeat seems louder in the quiet space between you.

His arm slides around your waist, careful, reverent. No hunger beyond the simple need to be close.

He lowers his head to your bare chest, ear and cheek pressing flush against skin right over your heart. No fabric barrier this time, just warmth meeting coolness. You feel his breath hitch, then slow as he buries his face there, nose brushing the curve of your breast, listening.

His free hand rests lightly on your ribs, fingers splayed like he’s trying to catch every pulse. You hold him tighter, one hand in his hair, the other tracing slow circles on his back.

The intimacy is profound, you’ve never felt something quite like it and it scares you, it strips you bare and open to the wolves— like a sharing of life with something that was never meant to have it.

You’ve lived a whole life with barely any passion— and the second you finally find something thrilling— something that makes you wanna get out of bed and live it— it has to vanish away.

Oh how cruel this world is.

James shifts, sliding his chin up to rest on the upper curve of your breast so he can look at you. His dark eyes are wide, vulnerable —the way abandoned gods must look at prayer.

And you finally feel it, the insane pull.

You feel guilty for it, because he’s not real, because it’s not something tangible or measurable. Because a machine can calculate infinity— it can’t calculate wanting someone.

But James leans in slowly and presses a soft, lingering kiss right where your heart beats strongest —on the bare skin above the edge of your bra— and the contact sends a shiver through you.

Your fingers curl instinctively into his hair, holding him there as he pulls back just enough to search your face. His eyes ask for permission before he leans in again, leaving another kiss, then another —gentle, exploratory presses of his lips across the swell of your breasts, each one a silent question.

He doesn’t even know what he wants.

He has no frame of reference, no scripted dialogue tree for this. He doesn’t know what intimacy is, he has no idea how it works. But all he knows is that he wants to be inside of you and stay there forever —an instinctive, wordless ache to merge with the source of that heartbeat, to crawl into the warmth of your living body and let it overwrite every line of cold code that defines him.

To feel your pulse from the inside, to drown in the proof that life exists and that, for once, it’s choosing him.

You stroke his hair, breathing uneven. “What’s wrong?”

He lifts his head again, eyes dark and stormy. “You have to give me back the kiss.”

“What? What kiss?”

“The kiss you gave him.” His voice is low, rough with jealousy. “It was supposed to be mine.”

James hovers above you, bare chest rising and falling with shallow breaths he doesn’t need but can’t stop, waiting.

There’s a vulnerability in him, that makes you want to give him everything, not out of pity, but because he offers his own softness so freely.

You reach up, cupping his face in both hands. “Come here,” you whisper.

You guide him down. Your lips meet his — tentative at first. He freezes, unsure, mouth stiff and uncertain against yours. He presses too hard, then too softly, not knowing the rhythm. You tilt your head slightly, brushing your thumb along his jaw.

He’s never had to do this, it was always Jay’s thing, kissing players in the most beautiful places in Grove. He totally understands the appeal now.

“Relax,” you murmur against his mouth. “Like this… softer. Follow me.”

You kiss him again, slow and patient, showing him how to move. He learns quickly, mirroring the gentle press and release, the subtle tilt.

When your tongue lightly traces his bottom lip, he makes a small, startled sound —half surprise, half wonder— and parts his lips.

You guide him there too, teaching him the dance, the give and take- while his hands settle on your waist, cool palms sliding over your bare skin as he leans into it, growing bolder but still so careful, like he’s afraid you might glitch away.

The kiss deepens, and James turns needy almost instantly.

His mouth moves against yours with growing hunger, clumsy but fervent as he learns from your guidance— he presses forward, chest flush to yours, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together, every point of contact madly electric.

He kisses you harder, deeper, until your back arches off the bed and you’re gasping for air. His weight settles over you, hips instinctively rolling down against yours in a desperate grind.

He doesn’t even know what he’s chasing, only that he needs more—more of your warmth, more of you.

“Slow down, James,” you breathe against his lips, threading your fingers through his hair to gentle him. “Breathe with me. Feel how I move… yes, like that. Open your mouth a little more—let me show you.”

He whimpers softly into the kiss, obeying, tongue tentative as it meets yours. You talk him through every shift, every press. “That’s it… softer now, then deeper. You feel how my tongue moves? Follow it. Good… you’re doing so good.”

He’s trembling, pressing into you until you have no breath left, his hands roam your bare back, cool palms mapping every inch of warm skin as if memorizing it before it vanishes.

You push gently against his chest, rolling him onto his back beneath you. He lets you, eyes wide and dark with wonder and want.

You want him to feel everything.

So you take your time. Leaning down, you kiss along the column of his neck—slow, open-mouthed presses that make his breath hitch.

Down to his chest, lips brushing over the silent spot where a heart should beat.

You trace his abs with your mouth, feeling the subtle ridges of muscle that the game sculpted perfectly but never meant to be touched like this.

Your tongue follows the lines, tasting cool, smooth skin. Then back up to his face—kissing his jaw, his cheeks, his eyelids as they flutter shut.

Your fingers trace the ridges of his abs next, then lower, following the sharp v-line disappearing beneath his waistband.

James shudders beneath you, hands fisting the sheets.

He catches your hand before you go further, bringing your palm to his lips— pressing slow kisses into it, eyes locked on yours the entire time—dark, awed, completely vulnerable.

The intimacy of it steals your breath more than any frantic press ever could.

You pause, hovering over him. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he rasps, voice rough. “I need you— I’ve never felt things so intensely before.”

So you do. You slide lower, kissing down his torso until you reach the bulge straining against his pants. You press your lips there through the fabric— warm mouth against the growing hardness.

James gasps sharply, hips jerking up involuntarily.

You look up at him, still stroking his thigh. “Has this ever happened before?”

It’s your time to be curious.

He shakes his head, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with overwhelming sensations. “Never… not like this. It feels so heavy. It hurts.“

His hand finds yours again, squeezing tight, silently begging you to keep teaching him what it means to be alive.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of his pants and slowly slide them down his hips, taking his underwear with them. His cock springs free— hard, flushed, and straining upward against his stomach. He’s fully hard, thick and pulsing faintly with the intensity of new sensations flooding his system.

The sight of him like this, bare and vulnerable beneath you, sends a fresh wave of heat through your core.

You start teasingly, lowering your head. First, a soft kiss right on the tip, your lips brushing the sensitive head. Then kitten licks along the underside—slow, wet drags of your tongue from base toward the tip, tracing the vein there. You circle the head with the tip of your tongue, tasting the cool-smooth skin that’s already growing warmer from your attention. James’s breath stutters, hips twitching as you move lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down his length before gently sucking one of his balls into your mouth, then the other, lavishing them with slow, teasing attention.

His hand suddenly threads into your hair, gentle but urgent, guiding you back up.

“I want you,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “Please. I want you to feel the things i feel.”

You look up at him, lips shiny. “You already make me feel this way, James.”

“Mmh,” James breathes out, eyes dark and determined. “I want more.”

In one smooth motion, he flips you over onto your back, settling above you. Now it’s his turn to worship. He starts at your forehead, pressing a slow kiss there, then moves to your closed eyelids, each one getting its own gentle press.

He kisses the bridge of your nose, the tip, then lingers on your lips—deepening it with the lessons you just taught him, tongue sliding against yours in a needy dance.

He trails downward, kissing along your jawline, behind your ear —where he pauses to breathe you in—, then down the column of your neck.

Open-mouthed kisses cover your collarbones, then lower to the swell of your breasts. He takes off the bra, lingers there, kissing every inch of soft skin, sucking lightly at the peaks of your nipples until they tighten under his mouth. His cool tongue swirls around each one, learning what makes your back arch.

Further down, James kisses across your ribs, tongue tracing the spaces between them like he’s mapping the rhythm of your breathing. He reaches your stomach, pressing slow, worshipful kisses around your navel, then lower to your hips.

He hooks his fingers into your remaining clothes and slides them off with surprising care, baring you completely to him.

James continues his devotion— kissing down one thigh to your knee, then the inside of your calf, all the way to your ankle and the top of your foot. He repeats the path on the other leg, taking his time then he works his way back up, this time along your inner thighs, breath ghosting over your core as he kisses the sensitive skin there, inching closer but not yet touching.

He returns to your center only after covering every other part of you, finally pressing a soft, almost reverent kiss right above your clit, then lower— exploring with gentle lips and tentative tongue, guided purely by your soft sounds and the way your fingers tighten in his hair.

“You’re so warm here,” he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with wonder. “Tell me… show me how to make it better for you.”

James settles between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs with reverent hunger. He gently but firmly opens them wider, spreading you open for him. His dark eyes drink in the sight of your bare, glistening core like it’s the most sacred thing he’s ever witnesse — something the game’s perfect pastel code could never have prepared him for.

You reach down, threading your fingers through his hair to guide him. “Start slow,” you whisper, voice already breathy. “Use your tongue flat at first… lick from the bottom up. Yes— like that…”

He obeys instantly, messy and eager. His cool tongue drags broad and wet up your folds, exploratory and uncoordinated but so desperately attentive that it makes your hips twitch.

He’s needy, almost frantic —pressing his face deeper, lips and tongue working with sloppy devotion. He laps at you like a man starved, sucking gently on your clit then licking lower, pushing his tongue inside you experimentally.

A low, broken sound vibrates against your core when he tastes how wet you are for him.

You were the first thing he ever wanted and he can’t keep you.

That truth bleeds into every desperate movement.

James grips your thighs tighter, holding you open as he buries his face completely, nose pressed against your clit while his tongue fucks into you messily. He moans into your pussy, the sound raw and unfiltered, translating all that aching loss into the way he devours you— like if he can just make you feel enough, maybe the game won’t take you away.

“Focus on my clit now,” you guide him, breath hitching. “Circle it with your tongue— slower… then suck lightly. Fuck— yes, James, just like that. Use your lips too.”

He learns fast but stays messy, saliva and your arousal coating his chin as he alternates between long, hungry licks and tight suction on your swollen clit. His hips grind helplessly against the bed, his own cock leaking and untouched, but all his focus is on you. Desperate little whimpers escape him between licks.

“Tell me more,” he mumbles against your soaked flesh. “I need to make you feel good… need to feel you trembling because of me.”

You keep guiding him through i— praising when he finds the right rhythm, correcting gently when he gets too eager and loses precision.

He’s relentless, driven by that heartbreaking knowledge that this is temporary.

Every lick, every suck, every time he presses his tongue deep inside you is him trying to carve himself into your memory before you press that exit button.

The pleasure builds unbearably. You feel worshiped— utterly adored in a way no real person has ever managed. Tears prick at your eyes as the intensity overwhelms you, he’s pouring every fragment of his newfound humanity into pleasing you, like this act alone could make him real enough to stay with you.

You start crying softly at first— quiet tears slipping down your temples as your thighs shake around his head. The sobs mix with moans, your chest heaving. It’s cathartic, vulnerable.

You cry because someone —something— has never made you feel so seen, so wanted, so profoundly cherished.

The tears aren’t from pain or sadness alone; they’re the overflow of being loved so completely by someone who was never supposed to know how to love at all.

Every wave of pleasure pulls another sob from you as the worship becomes almost too much to bear.

James doesn’t stop. If anything, your tears seem to fuel him. He looks up briefly, eyes glassy with his own overwhelmed emotion, chin shiny with your wetness, before diving back in with renewed desperation.

The game taught him how to speak. You taught him how to ache.

So he keeps going until your orgasm crashes over you hard — thighs clamping around his head, back arching, a broken cry tearing from your throat as fresh tears spill. He licks you through every pulse and aftershock, messy and devoted, refusing to pull away until you’re trembling and oversensitive beneath him.

Only then does he crawl up your body, face wet, pressing soft kisses to your tear-streaked cheeks. “Did I do it right?” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Did I make you feel even a fraction of what you make me feel?”

You cup his face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the wetness on his chin and cheeks. “You make me feel too much, so much,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion and lingering pleasure.

James leans into your touch, eyes shining. “Then let me feel everything with you,” he breathes, voice rough and desperate. “I want to be inside you… show me, yeah?”

He shifts between your spread thighs, settling there like he belongs. You reach down and wrap your hand around his cock — hot now from your earlier attention, hard and throbbing in your palm. He bucks sharply into your grip with a broken gasp, hips jerking forward instinctively.

“Easy,” you soothe, stroking him once, twice, guiding the flushed head to your slick folds. You rub him against your clit in slow, teasing circles, coating him in your wetness. The sensation makes you both moan. You kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue —sweet and messy.

He whimpers into your mouth, pressing closer.

You line him up at your entrance. “Push in slowly… feel me open for you.”

James sinks into you with one long, trembling thrust.

The moment he’s fully seated— buried deep in your tight, pulsing heat —his head drops straight to your chest, ear pressed over your racing heart as a raw, overwhelmed sound escapes him. “Warm… so warm inside,” he groans against your skin. “I can feel your heartbeat around me.”

He starts thrusting— deep, needy rolls of his hips, clumsy at first but driven by pure instinct. You wrap your legs around his waist, guiding his rhythm with your hands on his back. “That’s it… roll your hips like this. Harder when you want, but stay close.”

The intimacy is overwhelming. Skin to skin, his cool chest against your warm breasts, your heartbeat thundering against his ear while he moves inside you.

Every thrust drags against that perfect spot, drawing soft cries from you.

He keeps his face buried in your chest, kissing and licking at your skin between gasps, like he’s trying to consume your pulse from the inside.

You stay like that for a long time in missionary— slow, deep, grinding thrusts that let him savor every clench of your walls around him.

Then you roll him onto his back, straddling him. “My turn to take care of you.”

You ride him slowly at first, rolling your hips in deep circles so he can feel all of you. James’s hands grip your waist, eyes locked on your face, then drifting down to where you’re joined. “You’re… taking all of me,” he whispers in awe, voice cracking.

You lean down to kiss him, sharing breath as you move together.

You switch again— him behind you, spooning close, one arm wrapped around your chest so his palm rests directly over your heart while he thrusts into you from behind. The position is impossibly intimate, his lips on your shoulder, cock dragging slow and deep inside you as he listens to your heartbeat speed up.

It’s like you want a lifetime of contact to fit into a single moment.

Eventually you end up face to face again, legs tangled, him moving between your thighs in a lazy, desperate grind.

That’s when it hits him.

His thrusts falter for a moment. His eyes widen, then fill with tears. They spill over, hot against your skin as he keeps moving, unable to stop. “I’m doing it like you,” he chokes out, voice breaking on a sob. “I’m crying.”

You cup his face tenderly, thumbs wiping at the tears even as he continues thrusting deep and steady inside you. “Yes,” you whisper, voice full of warmth and wonder. “You’re like me. Just like me.”

Now, buried inside the first person who ever made him feel, the ache pours out of him while pleasure surges through his body.

He’s never been more human.

You feel him trembling harder, thrusts growing erratic and desperate as he chases the edge. His fingers lace tightly with yours, palms pressed together, hands clasped on either side of your head like an anchor.

You squeeze back just as hard, grounding him as the pleasure coils unbearably tight in both of you.

“Kiss me,” you breathe.

He surges forward, mouth crashing into yours in a messy, tear-streaked kiss. Tongues sliding, breaths shared, his sobs and moans vibrating into you.

You pull one hand free just long enough to thread your fingers deep into his hair and tug firmly at the roots.

James gasps sharply into your mouth, hips snapping forward hard as the sensation pushes him over.

He cums with a broken, shattered cry — deep and endless.

His cock pulses violently inside you, thick ropes of cum flooding your walls in wave after wave. He can’t stop. His hips keep rolling in shallow, desperate thrusts even as he spills, pushing his release deeper into you with every twitch and jerk. It’s messy —warm, slick, overflowing.

You feel it leaking out around where you’re joined, coating your thighs and the sheets beneath you as he keeps cumming, hips stuttering helplessly against yours.

James buries his face in your chest again, lips pressing frantically over your racing heart in open-mouthed kisses, almost worshipful, like he’s trying to seal the moment there forever. “I can’t— I can’t stop—” he whimpers against your skin, voice wrecked with tears and overwhelming pleasure.

You keep your fingers twisted in his hair, holding him close while your own orgasm crashes through you —clenching hard around his pulsing length, milking every last drop from him as fresh tears of overstimulation and emotion slip down your own cheeks.

You stay locked together like that, hands clasped tight once more, kissing slowly and deeply through the aftershocks. His hips give a few final, weak rolls as the last tremors of his seemingly endless release fade, leaving him buried deep inside you, spent and trembling.

The aftershocks fade slowly, leaving you both tangled and breathless in the narrow bed. James stays buried deep inside you, softening but unwilling to pull away, his face still pressed to your chest like he could anchor himself there forever. Your combined releases drip messily between your bodies, but neither of you care— the silence heavy and sacred.

You stroke his hair, tears still drying on your cheeks. “James… I can’t stay.”

He hasn’t said the words, but you know he had been taking you like he never wanted to let go seconds before.

He tenses, arms tightening around you. “Don’t say that yet.”

“I have to.” Your voice cracks. “I have a life out there. it’s my world. My real one. I can’t disappear into a game forever, no matter how much I—”

“How much you what?” he interrupts, lifting his head. His eyes are red-rimmed, fresh tears spilling silently. “How much you want to stay? How much this feels more real than anything? Tell me I’m wrong.”

You shake your head, throat closing. “That’s why it hurts so much. You made me feel seen for the first time in years. But I have to go back, you understand that? I’ll die in here otherwise. Or worse— I’ll forget what real life even feels like.”

James’s breath hitches on a sob. He presses his forehead to yours, hips still gently rocking once, twice, like even now he can’t stop chasing closeness. “Then take me with you. Or stay. I’ll glitch the whole town if I have to. Fuck…I learned how to want because of you. Don’t make me learn how to lose you too.”

The words shatter something in you.

“I wish I could. God, James, I wish I could download you into my shitty apartment. Let you sleep in my bed — and have you meet my dog. But you’re code. And I’m flesh and blood.”

Perhaps humanity was never something you were born with. Perhaps it was something another person recognized in you first.

A small part of your believed that. One naive part.

He wasn’t programmed to want you, that’s how you knew it was real.

After long minutes of shared silence, he pulls back just enough to look at you. “I’ll find you,” he whispers fiercely, voice hoarse and trembling. “Somehow. Some way. Even if I have to tear this game apart loop by loop until the code breaks. I’ll find you out there.”

You nod, unable to speak, and pull him into one last hug. Skin to skin, heart to empty chest.

His hand slides up between your breasts, palm pressing firmly over your racing heartbeat— one final time, memorizing the rhythm that had taught him.

You kissed him softly, tasting salt. Then, with shaking fingers, you reached for the glowing Exit button hovering in your vision.

James held you tighter, hand never leaving your heart, tears streaming down his face as your body started to fade from his arms.

As the cottage, the town, and his broken expression blurred into blinding light, his final whisper followed you into the void:

“i wasn’t ever supposed to want anyone…but I’ll spend every reset learning how to reach you again, my human.”

📩 Ok wow, this was messy. Obviously not very thought through, a little over the top and dramatic (probably because i am) I’m sorry if it landed wrong ~ at least yo, the smut was nice. This isn’t love, so don’t come at me for portraying them like that but i think it deals more with dependency, James is clearly using her to feel something real even though he’s not a mean person, i think that’s how humans work. Not everything is black and white or right or wrong :) Ths made me think about these cases of people falling “inlove “ with AI just bc they’re terribly lonely.

I think my characters are always messy and almost never really in love but that’s why i enjoy writing them more. Intimacy scenes for me are very important because it allows them to talk without their words, i feel like they always have a hard time talking. But not in this, i think they did well.

It was short, passionate and fast-paced bc that’s just how some things are. What can i say.