It started as a joke.

Some late-night doom scroll led Nate Jacobs to a random stream—just background noise while he lifted. He wasn’t even paying attention at first. Just another dumbass trying to make it big online, right? Nothing special.

But then he actually watched.

The way you talked—God you’re so fucking dumb—But that’s just it. You weren’t trying hard. Fucks sake you weren’t trying at all, weren’t desperate for attention like every other person he knew. His version of a compliment... You laughed at your own jokes, snapped back at chat with quick, sharp wit, and never tried to be anything other than yourself.

And that? That pissed him off.

Because now he couldn’t stop watching.

Nate wasn’t normally kind of guy to send cash online like some fucking middle aged fuck with no social life—hell no. But the donations? They felt like another form of power. A way to remind you who was keeping the lights on. He sent the biggest tips, always under a fake name, watching your little reactions every time a fat donation rolled in.

Because here’s the thing—you went to the same school. Walked the same halls. Had no idea the guy dropping stacks in your chat was the same one who barely looked your way in real life. And Nate? He liked it like that.

For now.

But that was the problem. For now was starting to feel like not enough.