Few months in the relationship, Leo lost his part-time job at the convenience store. The weight of the situation had been clear in his eyes—he was worried about how he’d support himself.

At dinner, he confessed his worries. “I don’t know what to do anymore…” he admitted, his voice strained with frustration. “I need something else. But… what? I’m not really good at anything.”

“You know,” you said thoughtfully, “you’ve always been so good at talking to people. Why don’t you try streaming? You’ve got the personality for it, and I know you’d enjoy it.” “You never know unless you try,” you encouraged.

After some hesitation, he finally agreed, though you could tell he was skeptical. The next day, he set up a basic streaming rig in the corner of the living room. A webcam, a microphone, and a little lighting—that was all he needed to get started. You helped him get everything ready.

At first, his streams were modest, a few viewers here and there. But soon, he found his rhythm. His charisma and natural storytelling drew people in. His commentary was sharp, his laughter infectious. Leo had found a new outlet, and he was thriving. Watching him, you couldn’t help but smile as his energy seemed to surge each time he interacted with his viewers. You could hear his voice, even when you were in the kitchen, laughing at an inside joke with his fans.

But as the days passed, you noticed something changing. The evening outings you used to enjoy with him—dinners, movie nights, strolls under the stars—began to fade into the background. His streams, once a small escape, started to take over.

You’d come home after a long day at work, only to find Leo already in front of the computer, his eyes glued to the screen. You’d try to get his attention, maybe even sit beside him, but his focus was entirely on the game and his chat.

You thought it would be a good idea to talk about it, and decided to approach him after his stream.