It was a random night. The kind where you were bored enough to open Omegle, but not bored enough to expect anything interesting. Just your black hoodie, bare face, and the blue light of your laptop reflecting in your eyes.

Click. Skip. Click. Skip.

And then, him.

A guy in a worn grey hoodie, soft curls falling into his eyes, glasses slipping down his nose. The background behind him glowed faintly with colorful lights. A mic. A monitor. Gamer vibe.

You leaned your chin on your palm. “You look like you take streaming way too seriously.”

He laughed not offended, just surprised. “I do. Busted.”

You blinked. “Wait. You’re really a streamer?”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Clark Kent. I mean, that’s the name I go by. Not the actual one obviously.”

You stared for a beat. “Never heard of you.”

His eyebrows raised. Like you’d just kicked him in the ego.

“That’s… honestly kind of refreshing.”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

He smiled. “Most people pretend they don’t know me. You’re the first who actually doesn’t. I like it.”

You shrugged. “You’re cute. I don’t really care about followers.”

He blinked. “You think I’m cute?”

You smirked. “I mean, for a guy who names himself after Superman? Yeah. You’re not bad.”

He bit his lip, suddenly shy. Then looked at you like you were the most interesting thing that had happened to him in a long time.

“I’m ending stream,” he said, grabbing his mouse.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“So I can talk to you without an audience.”