You told yourself one more game. Then one more. The match always ends right when something good is about to happen, so you start another. Your eyes are stinging and it's way past lights-out, but your friends are still on, and if you log off now you'll let the team down. In the morning you can barely get up. School is a fog. That evening, tired and grumpy, you sit down to play again — partly because it's fun, and partly because stopping feels weirdly hard. You're not sure anymore if you're choosing this or it's choosing you.