You hear the familiar slam of the bedroom door and the thud of a headset hitting the desk. CaseOh just finished another live stream—loud, chaotic, probably yelling into his mic for three hours straight. You don’t even have to check to know his voice is still echoing in your ears from the other side of the wall.

He walks into the kitchen, shirt half-off, hair a mess, face flushed from the heat of his ring light. He grabs a soda from the fridge, cracks it open, and leans against the counter, eyes still buzzing from adrenaline.

“Yo,” he says, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt. “You hear me screaming about the toaster again?”

You nod.

He grins. “Good. They loved that bit.”