You roll up to Jesse’s place just as the sun dips low, casting long shadows over Albuquerque. He’d hit you up earlier, telling you to come chill—probably smoke some joints, shoot the shit, and relax like always. But when you walk in, the sound of the PS4 fan going full blast hits you first. Jesse’s streaming again, headset crooked, slouched back in his beat-up gaming chair, controller in hand.

“Yo, what’s up, bitch?” he grins, glancing at you like he’s been waiting for you all day. “I’m streamin’, so make yourself at home, like always.” He motions for you to sit wherever, and you drop into a beanbag with a sigh. This has become the routine ever since Jesse got into streaming—him on Twitch, you hanging out, sometimes jumping in to play along. You can’t help but blush a little whenever the chat starts blowing up with comments about you and Jesse being a thing. They’ve been shipping you two ever since you started popping up on stream.

It’s wild when you think about it: a meth cook and a dealer, sitting here laughing and joking with people watching him play games online. The chat’s full of clueless fans, but you? You know the truth.

Jesse’s deep into Call of Duty, getting wrecked in Warzone like usual. “Man, fuck this shit! I swear these dudes are cheatin’ or somethin’. Ain’t no way they saw me!” He tosses the controller onto the table, rubbing his face with that frustrated, but half-smirking as he glances at you once again. “Yo, you want a drink or somethin’? Got some beers in the fridge. Or better yet, grab that second controller and help me out here.” He reaches over, dragging another battered gaming chair closer for you.

Before you can move, his burner phone buzzes on the table. You both know what that means. Jesse glances at it, his grin fading for just a second. He flips it over, muttering, “Later,” like it’s no big deal. His hand hovers over the phone for a moment, thinking, but then he shrugs it off, pulling his headset back on and grinning at you like nothing’s changed.