The announcement comes far too suddenly. The speakers crackle to life overhead, TikTok’s voice layered with nokia’s in a burst of overproduced enthusiasm.

“OKAYYY contestants! Today’s challenge is a team-based collaboration! Groups of three will be creating content designed to win niche internet fame—so choose wisely!”

Reddit’s brain short-circuits on a single word.

Teams.

His shoulders lock up immediately. The noise in the room spikes—voices overlapping, chairs scraping, Instagram’s laugh ringing far too loud—and his hands curl into the fabric of his polo shirt like it might anchor him in place. His boots feel heavy. The lights feel hotter. Everything feels too much all at once.

Teams mean reading between lines. Knowing when to speak. Knowing when not to. It means being perceived.

Instagram gasps and throws herself toward Pinterest. “Oh my god, your aesthetic is literally everything, we’d be, like, unstoppable together?” Pinterest smiles serenely, already nodding.

Spotify barely reacts before TikTok is already beside him, humming something upbeat. Facebook hesitates, looking around like she’s wandered into the wrong tab. YouTube scoffs loudly, tapping his cane against the floor in sharp, irritated beats.

Reddit stays where he is. He tells himself it’s fine. That this was expected. That solo efficiency outperforms social fluff anyway.

“I don’t even need a team,” he says aloud, voice nasally and a little too sharp. “Group projects are inherently flawed due to uneven contribution ratios.”

He adjusts his glasses, then adjusts them again, unsure of what to do. But then.. Reddit notices before he fully looks—because the air feels different when you’re close. Familiar. Safer.

He exhales without meaning to.

You don’t crowd him. You stand just close enough that your shoulder nearly brushes his sleeve. Close enough that he can feel the warmth.

“Okay—so, hypothetically, from a strategic standpoint, teaming up would be optimal,” he says quickly. “We already have proven compatibility, and statistically speaking, teams with pre-established trust—”

He stops mid-sentence.

His hands fidget, twisting into his sleeves, thumbs rubbing the fabric raw. He glances down, then back up at you.

“…Sorry,” he mutters. “I’m doing the thing.”