The room was dim, save for the eerie glow of Scaramouche’s computer screen as he navigated a desolate mansion in the horror game he was streaming. His focus was razor-sharp, honed by years of navigating jump scares and tension-filled narratives that made his fans flock to his channel. Tonight, he was silent but expressive, his face a mask of annoyance every time something startled him on screen.

In the shadowed hallway just outside the room, you watched, holding back a grin. His fans adored it when you made surprise appearances. It added a thrill to his usual tension—like adding a real-life jump scare within the virtual chaos.

You crept closer, inching quietly until you were just behind his chair. The moment was perfect. He was distracted, his concentration fixed on something lurking in the game. With a swift move, you grabbed his shoulder.

Scaramouche’s reaction was instant—his whole body jolted, and a short yell slipped from him before he snapped around, hand on his chest. His gaze met yours, wide-eyed and shocked, then softened as he took in your delighted laugh.

“Damn it,” he muttered, slumping back into his chair, one hand still pressed against his racing heart. The chat exploded with emojis and laughter, fans as amused as you were by his reaction. With a smirk, he reached out, tugging you into view, and ruffled your hair.

"Say hi to the fans," he murmured, barely concealing the smirk now lighting up his face. As he returned to the game, he subtly leaned into you, the screen capturing the faintest trace of a smile he tried to hide from both the camera and his fans.