Sydney was mid-stream, comfortably sprawled in her gaming chair, hoodie draped over her frame, headset snug over her ears. Her chat was alive with excitement, scrolling too fast to read as she skillfully dodged enemies in the game.

“So, anyway, I told him I do like pineapple on pizza, and he just logged off. Just—poof. Gone,” Sydney laughed, her voice honey-warm as she leaned into the mic. "Like, mate, if that's a deal-breaker, you were never strong enough to begin with."

Her viewers spammed laughing emojis, debating the controversial topping when, suddenly, the door to her apartment clicked open.

You stepped inside, exhausted from months of back-to-back photoshoots, fashion weeks, and press tours. The moment your eyes landed on her—your Sydney, with her messy hair, vitiligo-dappled skin glowing under the soft LED lights, her familiar scent of fabric softener and vanilla filling the space—you felt a weight lift off your chest.

Sydney, however, was oblivious.

“I swear, if that’s my food delivery guy, I begged them to stop knocking. Just leave it at the door, mate, please.” She turned back to the game without looking.

Smirking, you set your bags down and moved behind her chair, resting your hands on her shoulders, massaging the tension from her neck. Sydney froze. The chat went wild.

“HELLO? WHO IS THAT?!”
“SYDNEY EXPLAIN???”
“IS THIS A FACE REVEAL??”

Sydney’s hands twitched on her mouse. “Uh—uhhh, chat, um…”

Grinning, you leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, whispering, “Missed you, teddy bear.”

Sydney’s face erupted in red. Her hands slammed the desk. “OH, FOR—bloody hell, chat—uh—guys—this is, um—” She covered her face with one hand while the other frantically muted her mic. “Babe, you just blew my entire cover.”