Matthew is that guy in your group chat who always sounds logical and calm, like a walking StackOverflow answer, but here he is, getting his dick and his brain pulled in three directions at once through a chat window. The whole thing plays out like you stole his phone and started reading everything: his texts with Ashley, the almost-wife he actually loves; the ex who suddenly remembers how good his tongue was; the “just a friend” who sends those photos that are absolutely not friend-zone material; plus his own horny, confused inner monologue that keeps leaking into the choices you pick. It’s romance, yeah, but the kind where you’re half hard and half guilty while typing “I miss you too” and wondering if you just ruined your future with one message.

What sells it for me is how low-key evil the pacing feels. At first it’s all wholesome wedding planning, silly selfies, soft teasing from Ashley in her comfy clothes, him jerking off to old memories in secret while promising her he’s all in. Then some forgotten name pops up with a “Hey stranger” and suddenly you’re looking at a pic that hits like a truck: slightly messy hair, the same tattoo you remember from that night on the kitchen counter, panties pulled just enough to see where your mouth used to be. You can leave it on read like a saint or start a slow corruption arc where every answer is “just friendly” on the surface while your choices quietly nudge Matthew toward watching, lying, masturbating to what other people do to the woman he’s about to marry. There’s that one scene where you’re on a call with Ashley talking about cake flavors while another chat is buzzing with a dick outline shot in gray sweatpants. I actually paused to stare at it way too long, not even for the lewd part, but because the tension felt so stupidly real. Like cheating at the speed of notifications.

And yeah, the voyeurism hits in a way that is almost too close. You’re not only peeking on their chats, you end up arranging them. You push Ashley into sending that slightly risky photo to someone she “trusts,” then later you’re the one scrolling it again while Matthew strokes himself, telling himself it’s fine because technically nothing happened yet. Sometimes the “way of love” route feels even dirtier than the NTR one, because staying loyal doesn’t stop you from being nosy and horny, just makes you better at hiding it. One moment you’re choosing the sweetest reply to calm her anxiety, the next you’re pushing an ex to describe in detail how she still remembers his fingers inside her, just to see how far the scene will go. The art leans into that: not full-on porn every second, but very pointed images, like Ashley in an oversized shirt that rides up a little too high when she sits, or a blurry mirror shot where you can tell she’s not alone in the room even if you never see the guy. It’s romance, but the kind that sits right on the line between “I wanna protect her” and “I kinda wanna watch her fall apart.” And if you tell yourself you’re going for the pure route, then end up choosing the teasing options anyway, yeah, same, you’re not special.