They eat it up.
I boot into a solo queue, just for warm-up and lean back while the map loads. My kill count’s still solid. My hand-eye is a little slower, but nothing I can’t work off by the end of the week. I let my voice drop, more casual. “Gonna be a big season,” I pause. “Thinking about applying for the Aim High tourney.”
[Chat Log:]
Neoncherry:BRO STOP
queensquish:HES COMING BACK???
Rubydaberry:ghost comp era again?
milkdrinker69:I am feral rn
“Not official,” I add with a smirk. “Yet.” I mute the mic for a second so they don’t hear me laugh. They think this is about rankings, about legacy. But it’s not, it’s about her. It’s always about her. Has been longer than I’d ever admit out loud. Even when I tried to ignore it, when I told myself it would pass. Aboutwatching the way she moved in that last game. The sound she made when we cleared that final team. The fact that her name is next to his. I’ll be damned if I let him share the same pixels as her unchecked.
I finish the round, top of the board, no surprise—then lean back in my chair and glance at my empty drink stash. I pull off my headset and push the mic away before yelling, “Hey, Carter!” No answer. “CAR-TER.”
His voice carrying from downstairs. “What?!”
“You wanna go grab some drinks?”
“Can’t. My soul left my body after the third match last night.”
“Your soul’s lazy.”
“No argument, but I still don’t want to.”
I sigh. “Fine,” I mutter, grabbing my keys. “But if I die on the road, I’m haunting you.”
Carter yells back, “I’ll put your ghost tag on my stream and pretend it’s a collab!”
Smartass. I tug on a hoodie and head out the door.
Gas station. Energy drinks. Maybe a plan or two. Let’s see what kind of trouble I can stir up on the drive. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d never put the mask on. If she’d met me first, no ghost tag, no twisted stream history. If I’d been exactly like Carter. Would she still have looked at me the same way? Would I still be in her bed? Would I even be on her fucking radar? I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, it doesn’t matter, I’ve got her now and I’ll burn every version of myself to keep it that way.
The gas station is bleak, fluorescent lights, sticky floors. I grabthree cans of red bull and a pack of gum I won’t chew. The cashier barely looks up. I’m in and out in less than five minutes, and by the time I pull back into our driveway, the sun’s starting to set low behind the trees.
When I walk inside, something smells good. Suspicious. I kick off my shoes and glance toward the kitchen.
Carter’s at the stove, stirring something that looks like real-ass food.
He looks up when I enter, flashing that dumb grin. “Figured I’d cook. Since you risked your life for the sacred elixirs.”
I hold up the drinks. “The cashier didn’t even look at me.”
“Tragic,” he says, ladling sauce onto two plates like he’s hosting a dinner party and not just feeding his semi-feral twin. “Sit down. Eat.”
I do. For a few minutes, it’s easy. We eat, bullshit about old game clips, make fun of the streamers who peak too hard and burn out in six months. He shows me a video of someone trying to do a back flip off their gaming chair. It ends exactly how you’d expect. We laugh. Weexist.It’s weird. Nice, but weird.
Carter eventually glances at the time, stands, and starts cleaning up his plate. “Gonna go video chat with Haven,” he says casually. “We’re watching something together tonight.”
I nod, not looking up. “Cool.”
He hesitates at the edge of the kitchen like he’s waiting for me to protest. I don’t, that’s their thing. The soft shit, shared playlists and parallel movies over video chat. They’ve been doing that since before I was even in the picture.
“Tell her I said hi,” I add, licking pasta sauce off my thumb.
Carter chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”
