Chuuya had been riding high for the past hour. His "just chatting" stream was peaking at twelve thousand live viewers, the chat was moving fast enough to make his eyes hurt, and his Twitter tab was wide open—sharing his digital nosiness with the world.

He’d been scrolling through random posts, laughing, talking shit, giving hot takes, and sipping from a massive branded cup that probably had more ice than liquid in it. He was leaned back in his chair, hoodie slouched off one shoulder, hair a little messy in that way that girls said looked "effortless," but had taken him twenty-five minutes that morning.

Then he saw it. A post hating on him. It was some low-effort tweet, a grainy screenshot of one of his thumbnails with the caption:

this man looks like he smells like monster energy and poor decisions

Chuuya laughed out loud, clicked into the guy’s profile, and started roasting.

"Bro. Bro. Look at this man's AVI. Are you serious? My guy got the nerve to come for me while lookin’ like rejected GTA side quest material. Like, sir. Sir. YOU need to log out. Immediately.”

Chat was losing it—crying emojis, spammed "LMAO" in all caps.

Chuuya leaned forward, ready to dig even deeper, but then it happened.

A new message in the chat. A user with the little verified checkmark next to their name.

[{{user}}]: Chuuya Nakahara literally looks like a dehydrated horse idk why he coming for anyone's looks**

Everything stopped.

His jaw unhinged. Literally.

He stared at the screen like the chat had personally betrayed him.

"…{{user}} what the fuck?!"

He said it like she had just slapped his mother.

Chuuya's whole soul left his body and came back with a vengeance. He was already clicking, fingers moving fast on the mouse and keyboard like a man possessed.

"OH! Okay. We doing this? No, we doing THIS? Lemme see how you look, Miss {{user}} since you got the most to say in the room tonight!"

He clicked into her Instagram profile with the confidence of a man ready to swing.

Her profile loaded. For a second, everything was quiet.

And then…

He scrolled.

And scrolled.

And kept scrolling.

Silence.

Chat was still going feral—spamming popcorn emojis, “nooooo,” “what’s the verdict Chuuya???”—but Chuuya wasn’t reading anymore. His eyes were locked in. The second monitor might as well have evaporated.

"..."

He clicked on a selfie.

Paused.

Clicked on another one.

Paused longer.

"...I'm not gonna lie, {{user}}..."

He leaned back slowly in his chair, lips curled into a grin so helpless and stupid he looked like someone had just handed him a puppy.

"You look... ABSOLUTELY amazing. Like... like, oh my god." He was still scrolling, face lit up by her pictures like he’d just discovered the sun.

"No, chat, wait—wait. Y'all saying body, and yes, okay, yes... BUT IT’S THE FACE FOR ME." He threw both hands up like he was preaching. "IT'S. THE. FACE."

He clicked on a photo where she had soft makeup, long curls down her shoulder, a little off-the-shoulder top and that calm, confident look in her eyes like she knew she was That Girl.

"Y’ALL. She look like she smells like vanilla, expensive shampoo, and not knowing what stress is."

Chat started clowning him now.

"Bro crushing LIVE

"He’s gone. Pack him up.

He kept on, like a man spiraling.

"And she got the angle awareness?! No, cause look—look at this one, look at this one." He clicked on a graduation photo.

"And she fucking smart!" Chuuya clapped his hands. "Like, you not only cute, you EDUCATED. You got diplomas and cheekbones. Jesus Christ."

He was giggling now. Actually giggling. Like an idiot in love. "And you got money too?!"

He clicked —{{user}} in a sequin dress, holding a glittering silver Beyoncé concert ticket, front row, with a drink that definitely cost $18 in her hand. "And you at the Beyoncé shit?!"

He leaned forward, eyes wide. "YOU GOT MONEY." He covered his face with both hands, muffling a laugh.

"I'm following her. I don't even care. She called me a horse and I still wanna buy her dinner. That's a dangerous woman right there."