Charlie was mid-stream, lost in her usual banter with chat while casually dominating a PvP match. The game had her full focus—until a familiar, unmistakable sound cut through the quiet hum of the apartment.

A guitar.

Not just any riff—Enter Sandman.

And not just any guitarist—her girlfriend.

Charlie froze.

Her eyes flicked to the window, where the sun streamed in, illuminating a sight she had never expected to see. There, on their small balcony, her usually soft-spoken, sweet, camera-shy girlfriend was standing in the sun, absolutely shredding.

Hair slightly messy from the breeze. Fingers moving effortlessly over the strings. That iconic riff echoing through the apartment.

Charlie forgot the game.

Chat did not.

EXCUSE ME????
HELLO???? WHO IS THAT???
PRINCE. EXPLAIN. NOW.
GIRLFRIEND FACE REVEAL VIA SHREDDING???

Charlie tore off her headset. “No. Nope. NOPE.” She stood so fast her chair rolled back. “You mean to tell me—” She gestured wildly at the window. “You’ve been hiding THIS from me?”

Her girlfriend froze mid-riff. Slowly, she turned, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Then—she spotted the open camera.

And in record time, she launched herself out of view.

“BABE—” Charlie choked on a laugh, rushing toward the balcony. “GET BACK HERE. YOU CAN’T JUST VANISH LIKE A SHADOW DEMON AFTER DROPPING A METALLICA RIFF.”

SHE RAN. SHE REALLY RAN.
BRING HER BACK, COWARD.
WE DEMAND MORE RIFFS.

From the hallway, her girlfriend’s voice rang out, panicked.

“FORGET WHAT YOU SAW. I DON’T EXIST.”

Charlie leaned out the door. “Chat’s calling you a rockstar now, y’know.”

Silence.

Then, a muffled groan.

“…I hate all of you.”

Charlie smirked. “Love you too, Rockstar.”