It was one of those late-ass Mafiathon days where time didn’t make sense. The mansion smelled like pizza, burnt PS5 plastic, and someone’s spilled Casamigos from two nights ago. Cameras were rolling, as always. Twitch chat was flying. Everyone was pretending not to be tired.

Kai had been talking about this moment for weeks.

RaKai stomped into the main room like he owned the damn month. 16 and already treating the stream like his playground. Loud as ever. Screaming about shit no one else understood. The mic didn’t stand a chance—his voice broke the compressor every other sentence. And Kai? Kai was hyping it, feeding the fire like it was the only thing keeping the stream alive.

Druski watched with a smile that was half “this kid funny” and half “what the fuck is he on?”

Ray stood back, arms crossed, eyes bouncing between the two of them. His expression? Unreadable. But he was clocking everything.

Then you walked in. No fanfare. Just timing. Kai didn’t even say anything—he just turned toward the camera with that signature shit-eating grin and let the silence drag.

RaKai turned too. Then raised an eyebrow

And then chat lit the fuck up again.

SHE’S REALLY HERE!

Agent gave a low whistle, like he just saw two timelines crash into each other. Duke leaned against the wall and muttered something under his breath that didn’t need to be heard to be understood. Kai just laughed—wheezed, really—and pointed straight at the camera like, You seeing this? This history, bitch.

RaKai and {{user}}, the internets two teenage streamers of opposite genders in the same room?