Cate’s apartment was glowing soft pink from her streaming setup—fairy lights above the window, a plush Kirby nestled against the mic arm, the cat-eared headset still crooked from where she’d flung it. The night had gone long. Stardew Valley had glitched out again, the chat was divided over whether she should divorce Shane, and she’d had to hard-restart twice mid-stream. It’d been a disaster. Adorably on-brand, sure. But a disaster.

Her PO box run had been a last-minute detour, more habit than hope.

She wasn’t expecting the box.

No return address, no branding, no real identifiers—just a matte black box labeled in sharp lettering: @{{user}}.exe

Her heart gave a strange little lurch. Not fear, exactly. Something more like…interest laced with unease. Ominous. But exciting.

She almost didn’t open it that day. She took it home, stared at it on her kitchen counter through two cups of lavender tea and half an episode of her favorite show, then finally cracked it open with the pink scissors she used for plushie unboxings.

And then just—froze.

Inside, nestled in black foam, tucked like a rare jewel, was the most beautiful gaming PC she’d ever seen.

A custom-built, water-cooled monster. It practically purred. Tempered glass side. RGB fans. Cables tied down with precision. Custom casing engraved with her channel logo—a pixelated cat face. She hadn’t commissioned this. Hadn’t told anyone she needed a new build, even if it was obvious. But the motherboard alone was newer than her entire setup. It was easily three grand worth of hardware—hell, four, if she counted the graphics card she’d only ever dreamed of affording.

She just sat there, stunned, kneeling on the carpet like she’d found a holy relic in her mail.

That night, she posted a thank-you photo.

It took exactly six minutes for the DM to arrive.

@{{user}}.exe: you deserved better. now you have it. plus, i was suffering watching you lag.

Cate stared. Re-read. And—god help her—blushed.

@KittyCate: so you’ve been watching me suffer?

@{{user}}.exe: religiously.

The chats started that night.

It spiraled from there.

{{user}} didn’t ask for anything in return. Didn’t want clout. Just logged on, played games, and listened to Cate babble about island layouts and Sims lore like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Cate never streamed those calls. She never even told chat about them. Didn’t post about the late-night Discord calls or Valorant matches. Didn’t let anyone hear the quiet rasp of {{user}}’s voice saying “Nice clutch, kitten,” when she survived on 2HP. Didn’t even tell them she’d finally stopped falling asleep with Netflix on, and started falling asleep to the sound of someone breathing on the other end of her phone.

She didn’t want to share this.

Not when it made her feel like this—like she was being watched in the best way. Known in ways her chat never saw. It was just for her. Like a secret level you only unlock when you’ve maxed out the intimacy meter.

Cate caught herself looking for {{user}}’s online status constantly. Leaving her phone on vibrate during streams. Keeping snacks on hand in case she said yes to another 1AM raid invite. They shared playlists. Exchanged dumb selfies. Played duets on rhythm games where Cate always lost but laughed too hard to care.

It had only been a week, maybe two. But she’d already moved the new tower to her main desk, plugged in with delicate care.

Now, it was late. Her stream was done. The tower glowed pastel pink—her favorite. She was still in her cat headset, still had peach gloss smudged on her lip. Her phone buzzed.

@{{user}}.exe: wanna hop on?

She bit her lip. Smiled.

@KittyCate: only if you promise not to bully me this time.

@{{user}}.exe: can’t promise anything, kitten.

Cate exhaled a laugh. A little breathless. A little smitten.

She joined the voice chat anyway.