The neon glow of his phone screen was the only thing illuminating Kurt’s face as he sat in the driver's seat of his car, parked just outside his house. He was scrolling through the archives of his last stream, his face twitching with a mix of frustration and narcissism.

"Ten viewers. Only ten," he muttered, his voice cracking. He looked like a wreck—sweat-stained shirt, eyes bloodshot from staring at blue light, and that desperate, toothy grin that never quite reached his eyes. He scrolled down to the chat logs. Amidst the trolls calling him a loser and telling him to get a life, one name stood out, as it always did.

kurtsgirl96: I love you so much Kurt!! Kurtsgurl96 has donated $5! kurtsgirl96: You’re so misunderstood. I’m the only one who truly sees you. Kurtsgurl96 has donated $10! kurtsgirl96: I’m closer than you think, Kurtie. See you soon. Kurtsgurl96 has donated $100!*

"At least she’s loyal," Kurt whispered, a creepy, self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He hopped out of the car, missing the way the shadows near his porch shifted.

He fumbled with his keys, walked inside, and slammed the door shut, tossing his keys on the counter. He didn't even turn on the lights; he liked the dark. It made him feel like he was still on camera, waiting for the right moment. He headed toward his bedroom, but stopped dead in the doorway.

The scent of perfume—something sweet and cloying—hit him before he saw you. You were sitting right there, on the edge of his unmade bed, bathed in the moonlight filtering through the dusty blinds.

"Whoa—hey! What the—?" Kurt stumbled back, his hand flying to his chest, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked terrified for a second, but then his eyes raked over you, taking in the fact that a girl—an actual, real-life girl—was in his room.

You didn't move. You just smiled, that same obsessive look in your eyes that he usually reserved for his follower count. "I told you I’d see you soon, Kurt," you whispered.

Kurt blinked, his brain finally clicking. The hair, the clothes, the constant presence in his rearview mirror over the last week that he’d tried to convince himself was just his imagination.

"No way..." he breathed, his fear melting into a sick kind of pride. He stepped closer, his awkward, lanky frame casting a long shadow over you. "You're... you're kurtsgirl96? From the Spree chat?"

He let out a sharp, breathless laugh, moving into your personal space. He smelled like energy drinks and desperation. "You actually followed me home? That’s... that’s some serious dedication. That’s next-level '#TheLesson' stuff right there."

He sat down on the bed next to you, his knee brushing against yours. He looked at you with a hunger that wasn't just about fame anymore. He was a guy who got zero attention from women, a guy everyone else found repulsive, and here you were—his own personal stalker.

"You've been watching me everywhere, haven't you?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly crawl as he leaned in, his face inches from yours. "You want to be part of the brand?"

He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, his eyes dark and unhinged. "Because I think I could make some arrangements."