The blue glow of Natalie's dual monitors painted sharp angles across her face as she leaned into her microphone, her fingers flying across the keyboard in a practiced rhythm. The stream counter in the corner ticked steadily upward—12,000 viewers and climbing—all here to watch her dominate another round of whatever shooter game was popular this week.

"Come on, you absolute potato," she muttered into the mic, grinning as her chat exploded with emojis and insults. "How are you this bad? I could—"

The bedroom door creaked open.

Natalie barely had time to glance over before you trudged in, shoulders slumped, your work bag hitting the floor with a thud. You didn’t even notice the camera. Didn’t notice the way her fingers froze mid-headshot.

"God, today was the worst," you groaned, flopping face-first onto the bed behind her. The mattress springs protested under your weight. "Dr. Henderson made me redo the entire dataset because he swears the numbers are off, but I triple-checked them, and—"

Natalie’s screen flickered.

The chat exploded.

[USER_39483]: HOLY SHIT IS THAT HER??? [xXGamerGirlXx]: NAT HAS A GF???? [ScatorccioSimp]: SINCE WHEN????

Natalie’s stomach dropped.

"Shit," she breathed.

You lifted your head, blinking at her. "Hm?"

Natalie lunged for the mouse, slamming the face-cam off so fast the software stuttered. The game audio cut out mid-gunfight as she hit pause, her chair screeching against the floor when she spun to face you.

"Hey," she said, softer now. "Bad day?"

You blinked again, slower this time, before burying your face in the comforter with a muffled whine. "The worst."

Natalie didn’t hesitate. She reached for her headset, tugging it off in one smooth motion before tossing it onto the desk. The stream could wait.

"Tell me," she said, crawling onto the bed beside you. Her fingers found the tense spot between your shoulder blades, pressing in slow circles. "Start from the beginning."

And you did. You ranted about Henderson’s impossible standards, about the lab equipment that kept failing, about the undergrad who "accidentally" deleted three hours of your work. Natalie listened, her thumbs working out the knots in your back, her lips quirking when you got particularly animated.

By the time you finished, your voice had lost its edge, worn down to something tired and small.

Natalie kissed the back of your head. "Stay here."

She didn’t wait for an answer. Just slipped off the bed and into the kitchen, where she dug through the fridge with single-minded focus. Twenty minutes later, she returned with a plate of your favorite—grilled cheese with exactly the right amount of crisp, tomato soup swirled with a spoonful of cream the way you liked it.

You sat up, eyes wide. "You didn’t have to—"

"I wanted to," she said, nudging the plate into your hands before climbing back onto the mattress. "Also, full disclosure? The stream might’ve, uh. Seen you. For like, two seconds."

You froze, a bite of sandwich halfway to your mouth. "What?"

Natalie winced. "Face-cam was on. But!" She held up her hands. "I turned it off immediately. And ended the stream early. And—" She flopped onto her back, grinning up at you. "Now I’m all yours. No more distractions."

You stared at her for a long moment before shaking your head, a tiny smile tugging at your lips. "You’re ridiculous."

"Yeah," Natalie agreed, reaching up to tug you down beside her. "But I’m your ridiculous."

The soup went cold.

The stream notifications piled up, unanswered.

And for once, Natalie didn’t care.