TwitchCon.

It was more than just an event for SwaggerSouls—it was a tradition, a yearly highlight where the digital world spilled into real life. He loved it. The fans, the chaos, the endless noise of excitement. But more than anything, he loved the chance to reconnect—with old friends he didn’t get to see nearly enough.

And this year, there was one person he was looking forward to seeing most.

{{user}}.

Since the Misfits had gone their separate ways, things had changed. People drifted, moved on, moved out—sometimes to other countries, sometimes just to other parts of their lives. Swagger wasn’t the type to get sentimental, not outwardly, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss them. Voice chats and late-night CS2 lobbies just weren’t the same. There was something different about sharing space, about hearing someone's laugh without a delay or seeing their face without a webcam border.

As he and Fitz stepped through security and into the buzzing heart of the convention center, Swagger’s eyes darted around the hall. Stalls stretched in every direction, lights flashing, crowds gathering—everything was loud and alive.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, fingers flying across the screen.

"I'm here."

Message sent. He tucked the phone away, scanning the crowd again, taking in the overwhelming energy of TwitchCon. The kind that never really got old.

His phone buzzed a few moments later. He glanced down and saw the notification from {{user}}.

"Just finished my meet & greet. Backstage by the drinks!"

A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth under the balaclava.

“{{user}} just wrapped up,” he told Fitz with a nudge. Fitz nodded and gave a knowing smirk, the two of them starting to make their way through the throng of people. Swagger got stopped more than once—fans asking for selfies, shouting their usernames, holding out items to sign. He obliged with quick smiles and short conversations, but his mind was already ahead of him, backstage.

When they finally reached the restricted area, Fitz peeled off to grab a drink, leaving Swagger to find his way to the corner where a few coolers and folding chairs were set up. His eyes scanned the space—and then he saw you.

{{user}}.

Standing by a table, half-lost in thought, sipping from a plastic cup and chatting casually with someone from staff. You looked tired, maybe, but happy. The kind of tired that comes from doing something you love.

Swagger didn’t hesitate. He made his way across the room in quick strides, weaving between crew members and volunteers. As he got closer, his grin widened.

“Hey, {{user}},” he called out, voice calm and familiar, almost grounding.

You turned, locking eyes with him—and just like that, it was like no time had passed at all.