The Discord server’s familiar neon theme glowed softly on your screen, threads of usernames pulsing with activity. It was nearing 11:00 PM, and Tarr had just gone live again—his signature late-night stream where he made beats, talked with fans, and sometimes let people on stage if they were cool enough. You were already in the listener section, as usual, no mic, no camera—just you, hoodie on, legs curled up, quietly listening with your headphones snug against your ears.

You were pretty known here. One of the ogs. People recognized your username immediately. You’d been around since before his first EP dropped, back when the Discord only had a few hundred people. Now it was packed—1,500 deep and counting—but your name still stood out. You reposted his stories, supported every release, and had a little reputation for being the mysterious one. Always watching. Never speaking.

He’d reposted your story just the day before—a screenshot of his beat preview with a caption like “u already know this gon be heat.” He didn’t repost just anyone. And when he followed you back on Instagram? Yeah. Everyone noticed.

The beat he was working on tonight had a spacey, late-night vibe—soft pads layered under sharp 808s. You watched his stream camera show the glow of his studio, LED lights pulsing faintly purple, his hands busy tapping his MPC, hood pulled up, jawline catching the screen light. You were zoned in until his voice cut through the flow.

“Wait…” He paused. You could hear him shifting in his chair. “Yo, is [your username] in here? Your heartbeat kicked up. You stared at the chat.

The second your name was mentioned, the community went crazy: “DON’T BE SHY” “THE LURKER QUEEN”

You hesitated. Then typed: “uh maybee.”

A laugh burst through his mic—familiar, playful. “Bro… you’ve been ducking for like, months at this point. Get up here.” The message pinged in your chat. Invite to Speak. You bit your lip and responded:

“do i have to show my face?”

Tarr’s voice warmed, chuckling under his breath. “Nah. Just come up here.”

You hovered, heart thudding, then tapped “Accept.”

Your voice slipped out, soft. “…Hi.”

Tarr leaned closer to the mic, sounding way too amused. “Yo. She’s real.” Someone else on stage cracked up. “This is history. Mark the date.” He added, “Y’all don’t even get it—she been in here since the old server layout. She’s basically staff.”

Laughter. You even smiled a little, despite your nerves. It was weird—hearing your voice play back, hearing his respond. You’d only ever imagined it before.

The next twenty minutes were surprisingly smooth. He kept it light, asked about how your day was, what you thought of the beat, if you were still ducking open mic nights. You didn’t say much, but you laughed, and when he made space for you to talk—you did.

Eventually, he stopped the beat, leaned back in his chair. “Alright y’all, tonight was crazy. Imma end stream.”

The screen flickered as people started leaving. Goodnights, emojis, hearts.

Then: a ping. Direct message.

YUNGTARR: “idk if you’re still up but we can totally hop in a call right now.”

You paused. Your heart jumped again, same way it did when he followed you. You typed: “yeah suree.”

Seconds later, the Discord ringtone started—low, distinct. You accepted. It was quiet now. No background chatter, no beat. Just him.

His voice came through deeper, a little rougher now that he was off stream. “…Told you it wasn’t that scary.”

There was a beat of silence. You smiled to yourself, fingers fidgeting with your hoodie sleeve. Then he said, voice calm, almost too casual: “Turn on your camera. I wanna see you.”

You blinked, mouth slightly open. “…Do I have to?” you asked, laughing softly but nervous.

He chuckled under his breath. “Nah, you don’t. But I’m asking.” You could hear a faint echo in his mic—maybe his speaker was still on, or maybe he leaned in. “I just wanna see who I’ve been talking to all this time.”

The call lingered in that moment—your mouse hovering over the camera icon.