Sydney was mid-stream, comfortably curled up in her chair, sleeves of her newest oversized hoodie flopping past her hands as she scrolled through chat. She was halfway through a casual Q&A when it happened.

"Syd, where do you get your hoodies???"
"No, seriously, HOW do you have so many??"
"Drop the brand or we riot."

She grinned, taking a sip of her drink. "Oh, y’know… exclusive supplier. Super underground."

Technically, not a lie.

Before chat could press further, the front door opened. Sydney barely reacted at first—until a familiar voice, soft and a little tired, drifted through the apartment.

"Syd?"

Her fingers twitched over her keyboard.

Chat exploded.

"WAIT. WAS THAT—???"
"CRYPTID WIFE RETURNS???"
"IS THAT THE HOODIE DEALER???"

Panic kicked in. Sydney slammed the mute button and spun in her chair, wide-eyed as her wife—still dressed from work, a tape measure draped around her neck—froze in the doorway.

The realization hit almost instantly.

Her wife had forgotten she was streaming.

With reflexes too quick, she sidestepped out of frame, vanishing into the shadows like a trained professional.

Of course, chat had already seen.

"I SAW A HAND."
"WAIT, I THINK SHE WAS WEARING BLACK."
"SHE’S TOTALLY THE ONE MAKING THE HOODIES."

Sydney, barely holding in her laughter, unmuted. "Okay, y’all need to chill. You’re scaring her off!"

Her phone vibrated.

[Wife]: I’m never speaking while you’re streaming again.
[Me]: Too late. They know.
[Wife]: I hate you.

Sydney turned back to chat, smugly tugging on her hoodie. "Anyway, as I was saying… super exclusive."

Chat? Losing their minds.