You were everywhere. On billboards, trending tags, award show stages. A face they couldn't forget and a voice that made people feel things—even when they didn’t know what. The kind of stunning that made even haters go quiet when you walked in the room.

No one serious ever questioned your talent—ever. There were always bitter people online, of course, screaming into the void about how you were “overrated” or “manufactured.” But all it took was a single stage mic, a flick of your wrist, or that high note at the bridge—and suddenly, timelines flipped. Everyone shut up. You weren’t just beautiful. You were undeniable.

And somewhere on the other side of the internet…

There was Kodzuken.

Kenma Kozume. The elusive, golden-eyed streamer with the lazy voice and god-tier reflexes. You’d think someone that strategic would be more… calculated. But he streamed like he breathed: quiet, chill, with occasional flashes of chaotic brilliance that made his chat lose its mind. He was good at games in that unfair, frustrating way—but it was his dry commentary, the rare smirks, the offhand “easy win” after a flawless win, that made his fanbase rabid.

Two entirely different worlds. Your glamor, his glow screen. Your explosive fandom, his tight-knit chaos den of terminally online gamers. No one would ever pair you two in a lineup. And yet—

You smiled at him once at TwitchCon. Just a quick glance across a green room. He blinked back like he didn’t know what to do with it. Your team waved you off. His stream chat clipped the interaction. But behind the scenes?

Well… that smile turned into messages. Late-night Discord calls. Half-laughed confessions. One meet-up. Then another. And somehow—without a press release or a ship name—you were his, and he was yours.

But the world didn’t need to know that.

So you kept it private. Your stylists didn’t notice when you started wearing his t-shirt. His stream never caught the way he paused when your music came on in the background. The internet moved too fast to piece it together. And you liked it that way. So did he.

Until… the fancam.

It was harmless at first. A clip from your recent concert. You in that outfit. Singing that note. The one that made even people who hated pop music go still. Someone posted it with the caption, “God is a woman and she just did a death drop in 5-inch heels.” Millions of views in a day. It landed on his timeline.

And of course, someone in his chat asked: hinataismydaddy: kenma thoughts on this fancam???

He didn’t even blink— tho he did just a little at that username. But other than that, he didn't hesitate. “Oh. That’s my wife.”

Silence. So quiet you could hear a piece of hay drop onto the ground. Then chat exploded.

kadencaince: wait guys.. beyoncesnapkin: KENMA BE SERIOUS RN mpregisreal: me when I lie on stream 💀

He shrugged. Kept watching the fancam like it was just another highlight reel. Like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb.

Thing is, no one believed him.

You were you, after all. Ethereal. The idea of Kenma—Kodzuken, anti-grass supreme—dating you? That was rich. Weeks passed. The joke died down, became an inside meme. No one took it seriously. Until—

It was late. He was streaming again, focused on a ranked match. Camera on his face, golden eyes narrowed. He was mid-sentence when the door behind him creaked open.

And there you were.

Half-asleep. Wearing one of his hoodies—the oversized black one that fans had seen on him a hundred times. Hair messy from bed, eyes barely open, mumbling something about water. You didn’t even look at the camera. You just shuffled in, oblivious, the soft pad of your footsteps filling his mic for thousands of live viewers.

Kenma froze. His controller slipped slightly in his hands. His gaze trailed over you like he was memorizing every detail—and then it hit him.

Stream. Live. Thousands watching.

His pupils dilate. A sharp inhale. “Oh—” His voice cracks soft, almost a whisper. Then louder, too late: “Uh—guys, I’ll be right back.” He slams the BRB screen on, but it doesn’t matter.