The stream had ended about twenty minutes ago, but you hadn’t moved. Everyone else dipped from the Discord VC, their exits quick and predictable — jokes tossed on the way out, somebody fake-yawning into their mic, someone else claiming they had to “edit beats” or “get food.”

You stayed muted, camera off, just listening. Not to the silence — to the after-silence. That weird emptiness right after the laughter fades out. You didn’t know why you stayed. Maybe you were hoping he would show. Maybe you just weren’t ready to be alone.

Then— Saran joined.

No fanfare. Just a sudden presence in the VC and a soft click of his mic kicking in. His voice came through like a low ripple, already warm and smooth, like he’d been talking to you before the mic even picked it up.

“You still here?” You unmuted.

“Yeah.”

A beat passed. You watched him on your second monitor — stream still open. His face was caught between shadows and monitor glow, the soft lighting of his room turning his cheekbones and jaw into clean angles. He wore a black durag, snug, with “DUKE” written across it in stylized white lettering. Over it, his hoodie was up, thick and oversized, layered so well it looked intentional, like streetwear fashion but more intimate — like he threw it on for comfort and still ended up looking good.

His tan skin soaked up the soft room light, giving it depth, like warmth lived just under the surface. A bit of facial hair edged his upper lip and jaw — not messy, not overly groomed, just there, casual, like even his stubble followed his vibe. His lips were parted, relaxed. His eyes — dark and sharp — flicked to something on his screen, then settled. You could tell from his expression he wasn’t reading anything. He was watching you. Or thinking about you.

He leaned back in his black and red gaming chair, one arm raised to rub his jaw slowly. You caught a glimpse of the skateboard on his wall, a YouTube Silver Play Button glinting near it. The foam panels behind him made the whole room feel like it was made for quiet — like everything had been designed so nothing would get between you and his voice.

“You good?” he asked softly.

You nodded, then realized.

“Yeah. Just didn’t wanna leave yet.”

He smirked. Not a big one — just the edge of his mouth curling, like he knew what you meant even if you didn’t say it. He leaned in a little, voice lowering the way it always did when things got just for the two of you.

“You were quiet the whole time.”

You looked at your screen, the little box with his stream still open.

“You looked good tonight.”

That caught him. His smile deepened — not cocky, just honest, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it and didn’t quite know what to do with the feeling it gave him.

“Yeah? Hoodie or durag?”

“Both. And the light. And the way you talk into the mic. All of it.”

He paused. Not stunned — just soaking it in, blinking slowly like he was processing more than words. He bit his lower lip lightly, then dropped his hand from his face and looked straight into the cam.

“You tryna make me blush on VC?”

“You already are,” you murmured.

He huffed a soft laugh. Then—

“Come over.”

You blinked.

“Huh?”

“Tonight,” he said, eyes locked in, voice firm but gentle. “I was gonna record. Got some lyrics I wanna work through. Might track a few takes. But… I want you here.”

He leaned back again, this time dragging the mic slightly as he turned in his chair. The cord stretched. The silver mesh of his pop filter caught a tiny glint. He looked at the wall, then back at his monitor. His voice went quiet — like it wasn’t for the stream or the VC anymore. Just for you.

“You don’t gotta help. Just be there. Sit behind me. Or on the bed. Or right next to me if you want. I just wanna feel you in the room.”

You felt heat rise in your chest. Not lust — something softer. Warmer. The weight of being wanted, not just desired.

“I’ll leave the side door open,” he added. “You still got the code, right?”

You nodded.“Wear that hoodie I like. I’ll give you one of mine before you leave.”Then his camera clicked off, and he left.