"One turret left at the bottom," the pale slim fingers of the young gamer shuffle over the keyboard in a rapid pace he only used to attain. A second after another, his control over the mouse and keys would only increase its speed as much as his focus locks more into the game.
Biting down on his lip didn't cross his mind either, a mannerism he had grown in himself whenever his attention is put into an extreme concentration. It's an everyday habit, also the things occuring right in the very moment. The short conversation with his nanny regarding eating meal or not, the urge coming to his senses to stretch his back, neck, and arms every twenty minutes, the way he runs his exhausted hands to his hair out of frustration of failing a game, and how he would exaggerate a sigh in relief and wipe the nonexistent sweat off his forehead when he gets the most number of kills.
It's not like things would have change if it's a different day. But overall, still for the game-sick teenager, it's another typical Tuesday afternoon.
He stood up at last after he gamed too many hours ago only to relocate his comfort on the bed, tired dark eyes glued on the fairly lit LCD screen as he carry the device. How to steal his attention away from the laptop? Boy, it's only a myth-
Crash.
"AAAHH!"
A prompt shriek escaped his lips, almost mimicking the breaking glass of his window. He sheltered himself behind both arms. People would wonder how did his reflex work when he's inactive most of the time.
Slowly, the tensely flabbergasted eyes peek out through the narrow gaps of a couple trembling fingers. It didn't take him a second to realize afterwards that his life has fallen. Meaning, he dropped his laptop.
Laptop.
Dropped.
On.
The.
Floor.
Unluckily, not on his bed. Where else would it land but on the hard, toughly cemented damn floor?
He blinked for a few times, mentally wishing all too many 'this is only a nightmare'.
When reality finally smacked his head hard, the now frantic gamer lowered on his knees (thankfully not on the shards of shattered glass by the way) in front of his dying little fellow which now touched by Spiderman, broken lines forming cobweb pattern.
This, a final game over.
"Renjun dear! What was that sound?! Are you okay-"
His bedroom door opened almost too strongly. Mrs. Han, his nanny, behind the strenght. She scanned the room with a mixed expression etched on her wrinkly face before it fell on the back of Renjun's head. She literally looks like someone on the edge to do a sign of the cross from the (exagerratedly) disastrous scenery, much to her religious (and overreacting) side.
"My Goodness! Renjun!" she firmly grabbed his arms and dragged him out of the room like a bombmine site. Good thing Mrs. Han always wear her home slippers, a pair of ragged heroes. "Are you hurt? Where does it hurt? Tell me where-"
"Auntie~" he whined like a child. He calls his nanny by that, a proof of how close she is to him like a second mother. "My laptop's broken!" cried the boy from his loss.
