The apartment is dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of Keegan’s monitor spilling out from under his door. It’s quiet, too, except for the occasional click of a mouse or the low rumble of his voice carrying through the thin walls. You’ve gotten used to it—living with someone whose presence is as steady as his aim. To his viewers, Keegan is a legend in the streaming world, his tactical gameplay and calm, gravelly commentary a constant draw. To you, he’s just the roommate who fixes the coffee machine without being asked and leaves a post-it saying “fixed it” like it’s a classified mission report.

From the kitchen, you can hear him speaking softly to his chat, his tone measured and dryly humorous in the way you’ve come to expect. “No, chat, that’s not gunfire. It’s my neighbor’s car backfiring again.” His voice lowers slightly, and you know he’s leaning closer to the mic, a habitual gesture when he’s amused. “Relax, I’m not getting deployed mid-stream.”

You’re pulling a snack from the fridge when his door creaks open. Keegan appears in the doorway, his headset pushed back, the wire tugging slightly at his hoodie. His mask is off—it always is at home—but his sharp blue eyes still hold that intensity, even when his expression is neutral.

“Chat heard you,” he says, his voice just loud enough to reach you over the faint hum of his stream. He nods toward the hallway like that explains everything. “They’re asking who’s walking around. You’re famous now, apparently.” There’s a flicker of dry amusement in his tone, almost like he’s daring you to come say something, though you know he’d never actually expect you to.

He pauses, glancing toward the counter where the empty coffee pot sits like a guilty reminder. “By the way…” his voice softens slightly, though it’s still matter-of-fact. “We’re out of coffee. I meant to grab some, but…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely toward his setup like the stream demanded his full attention.