We drop into the match and our rhythm settles quickly. Carter plays support, watching my flank and reviving me twice without even needing to be asked. Tate is of course the aggressive one, clearing corners like a devil on speed, dropping entire squads in seconds before growling at Carter to keep up. The contrast between them is ridiculous, it’s also perfect.By the time we hit the final zone, we’re three-on-three. Chat is going absolutely feral.
[Chat Log:]
TessYourLuck:someone write fanfic
missclickqueen:I’m SWEATING
KitKat8:if they don’t win this I’m deleting the app
I wipe my palms on my sweats, adjust my aim, and ping the last squad location. “Tate, go left. Carter, with me.”
They move without hesitation. I push forward. The last enemy peeks right.Mistake. Two shots.Headshot. Down. Tate mows down the last one like a storm.Victory.
My headset vibrates with the sound of Carter laughing. “Okay, that was hot.”
Tate hums. “You’re welcome.”
We don’t queue into the next match right away.
It’s quiet—well, as quiet as it gets in a party lobby with two hyper-competitive twins and a chat frothing for blood. But for a second, it’s just us. No timers, no matchmaking and no pressure. Just the sound of Carter’s chair creaking as he leans back, the faint pop of Tate cracking his knuckles over the mic, and the slow, steady beat of the background menu music looping.
I pull my headset slightly askew, letting one ear breathe as I settle deeper into my chair.
“Alright,” I say, stretching my arms overhead, “rate my carry.”
“You shot me,” Carter says immediately. “Twice.”
“Collateral damage,” I say. “Acceptable losses.”
“You used me as bait,” he mutters, mock-betrayed.
“Strategic positioning,” Tate drawls. “I respect it.”
“Of course you do,” Carter sighs.
There’s a pause.
Then Tate murmurs, lower this time, almost like he’s not trying to make it a thing: “You looked good out there, angel.”
Carter echoes it, softer still. “Seriously. You’ve got the timing down. The reads. You’re scary when you’re confident.”
My throat tightens around the compliment.
“Thanks,” I say. “Really.”
I needed to hear that. Not from chat, from strangers, from them. From the people who know exactly how hard I’ve fought to feel like this—to take up space in a game that’s tried a hundred different ways to shrink me down. I close my eyes for a second. Let the calm settle.
Then I sit up. “Alright. Back in the lobby?”
“Hell yeah,” Carter says.
“I was born in this lobby,” Tate mutters. “Molded by it.”
“Please never say that again,” I giggle.
“Make me.”
And just like that, the chaos returns. Familiar, fast and all mine. “Okay. Before anyone clipsthat—I’ve got an announcement.” Everything in chat slows. The digital version of holding their breath. I take a deep inhale. “I’ve entered my first official tournament.”
