[Chat Log:]
Levelyn_up:YOU WHAT
Levelyn_up:LET’S GO
whens_ur_bracket:you better stream that sh*t
Tabic4t:HAVEN IN COMP PLAY????
Neoncherry:i will sell blood to buy merch
I grin. “Yeah. It’s happening. Aim High, public bracket, live match coverage. Chat goes nuclear—my heart races. But I feel it; that high, the rightness of it. I belong in this space.
I end the stream, but not before doing what I always try to do; find someone smaller, someone grinding, and raid the hell out of them. My community explodes into another chat like a swarm of pixelated bees, spamming emotes and hyping a streamer I’ve never met.
She gasps when the numbers roll in. I can hear the disbelief in her voice. I lean back, watching the joy ripple across her screen, and let myself feel it too. This is my favorite part. Not the wins, not the numbers—the moment someone else gets that rush for the first time. I remember what that felt like. I never want to lose that. This is mine, I made this. I shut off my cam, slide back in my chair and pick up my phone.
[Group Chat:]
Me:you two are ridiculous, but I think I’m still obsessed
Tate:we know, but say it louder, angel. with less clothes on.
Carter:ignore him, also what are you wearing
Me:the headset
Me:nothing else
Tate:oh for fuck’s sake
Carter:I’m gonna die
4
Tate
The tournament site is ugly. Whoever designed it should be punched. Twice.
I scroll past the glitchy-ass banner at the top and ignore the auto-play trailer that nearly blows out my speakers. None of that matters, all I care about is the bracket list and the sign up button that’s been mocking me since Carter dropped this plan on me yesterday.
He didn’t have to sell it that hard-the second I saw Dylan’s name next to hers, my blood lit up like someone poured gasoline into my veins and handed me a lighter.
I click into the roster again. Her handle sits right there, clean and sharp and exactly where it belongs. Then right under it, D7LAN. Like a fucking parasite that doesn’t know when to die.
Fucking hell, it wasn’t always like this. There was a time—months back—when I thought fucking with her was harmless. Just game-night antics, fucking chaos for chaos’ sake.
I remember the match. Solo queue, random fill. She called a flank and cleared a whole squad with nothing but a pistol and attitude. The comms lit up with laughter. Someone called her cracked. I just listened, sat in my corner of the map, and waited for the right moment.
Then I killed her.
Clean shot, right to the dome and when her mic cut in with a soft, breathy “seriously?”—I clipped it.
Laughed, posted it with a “GG, pretty girl” caption, and watched the views climb.
Her voice called to me, the way it went sharp when she was frustrated and sweet when she thought nobody was listening. I didn’t know she was barely holding it together off-cam. That the guy she shared a clan tag with was fucking her head sideways while I made her my personal highlight reel.
I didn’t know, but I do now. I can’t unknow it, can’t unsee the way she second-guesses herself mid-call. The way her voice dips when she thinks she messed up.
