The two of you said goodbye to Moderator Marsworms and got back into Logan's blue car. You drove back to his streaming studio, which was also his house where he lived. You walked up the stairs, where Logan introduced you to his three faceless roommates, who were dressed in all black. He introduced them collectively as "The Stage Crew".
The Stage Crew giggled at you in one collective voice. You waved nervously at them, somewhat unnerved by their presence. They produced a glass of milk and held it to Logan in their six hands.
"In case you eat something spicy on stream again," The Stage Crew said, their voices blending together in a manner so terrifying that you almost ran right back down the stairs and out of the house.
Logan laughed. "You guys know I don't like milk."
"You will need it in the coming days," The Stage Crew said.
Uh, okay." Logan raised an eyebrow. "You guys know better than I do, I guess."
"Yes," The Stage Crew said. "We do."
He took the glass of milk and led you to his streaming room, which you knew well from watching every single one of his streams. Waiting inside was a tall person with reddish hair, bangs, and a yellow shirt with sunflowers embroidered on it.
"Hi," Logan said, setting the glass of milk down so that he could share a tender yet firm handshake with them. "How was your day?"
"Good!" the person said. "I saved two endangered species at work."
"That's amazing." Logan turned to you. "This is Catie. You probably know her as ModCatie. She's here to be my production assistant for tonight's stream."
"Someday, I'm going to run this channel," ModCatie muttered.
"She's planning a mutiny against me. I like to pretend I don't know," Logaesthetic whispered to you. "I don't want to ruin their fun."
"I like your sparkly lip gloss," Catie said, looking down at you.
"Thanks! Logan bought me from my alcoholic mother," you explained.
She laughed, but when neither you nor Logan joined in, she stopped. "You're kidding, right?"
Logan shook his head. "No. Some mom was selling her kid, and I figured I needed an editor, so..."
"That's terrible," ModCatie said. "This is terrible. And unethical. You can't buy children—"
"No politics in chat," Logan said, cutting them off.
"Sure," Catie said, before leaning down to whisper into her watch, "We need to fast-track this revolution thing. We ride at dawn."
Logan laughed. "Oh, ModCatie. You never let me get away with anything." The two of them shared another tender handshake. You began to wonder why Logan Aesthetic shook people's hands so much. You had a feeling you would never learn the reason.
The Logaesthetic stream for the night was a playthrough of 'Papa's Boulangeria and Patisseria', the newest installment in the 'Papa's' franchise. With some help from you and ModCatie, Logan Aesthetic talked to the chat for half an hour, banned Moderator Marsworms twice, played the game for an hour, and spent the last two hours of stream doing a tier-list of types of bread. All in all, it was a raucous success.
As Mr. Aesthetic ended stream and sent Catie on their way with yet another handshake, something he had said earlier occurred to you.
"Hey," you asked, "Did you mean what you said earlier?"
"Huh?" Logan scratched his head.
"About me being your editor," you explained.
"I mean, yeah. I do need an editor." Logan nodded. "It's hard to keep up with the highlights videos on my prosperous and thriving YouTube channel."
"Oh." You tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear and sulked.
"Is...something wrong?" Logan asked.
You sighed. "Well, I thought you bought me so that we could have an unrealistically perfect romance that would ruin Wattpad-obsessed preteens' expectations of relationships for the rest of their lives."
Logan looked horrified. "What? Uh. No. Sorry about that."
You crossed your arms crossly. "What do you mean?"
"Aren't you, like, thirteen?"
"I'm fifteen," you corrected him.
"I don't think that matters as much as you think it does. I just needed an editor," Mr. Logan Aesthetic explained. "Twitch doesn't pay much, so I needed someone who I wouldn't have to pay."
You began to wonder if it would be an inappropriate time to ask Logan for ModCatie's phone number so that you could join their revolution.
"I wasn't looking for some weird romance situation," Logan said. "I just wanted a child slave to do my editing for me."
You started crying, smudging the glittery lip gloss that you had decorated your cheeks with as well as your mouth and eyes.
"It's okay, pal," Logaesthetic said, gingerly patting you on the shoulder with one finger from where he stood five feet away. "You can always stay here and join The Stage Crew."
The door to his streaming room swung open with a bang, and the silhouettes of The Stage Crew filled the doorway, casting long shadows across the carpet. "Come join us, child," they said in their strange, echoing voice, extending all six of their hands.
Well, there were worse places to live. At least The Stage Crew hadn't shotgunned anything yet.
You held out a hand and awkwardly shook all six of The Stage Crew's outstretched hands at once. "Do you like glittery lip gloss?" you asked.
"We like glitter and sparkles very much," The Stage Crew answered.
Logan beamed. "Great! I'll see you around, then."
He shoved you out the door and closed it behind you, leaving you to face The Stage Crew alone.
"Do you like Raising Cane's," The Stage Crew intoned.
"Um. Yes?" you replied.
"Cool. We shall go there for dinner now." The Stage Crew swept away to put on their shoes.
The Stage Crew, as you found out, were mildly terrifying, but were still a better mother than your old alcoholic mom. She never bought you Raising Cane's and then took you out for ice cream afterwards, but The Stage Crew did.
As you enjoyed your strawberry ice cream sundae with The Stage Crew, you received a text from a number you didn't have in your phone.
This is ModCatie. Don't ask how I got this number. You should tell the police about Logan buying you. They'll send him to jail, and then we can finally take over his Twitch account. Vive la revolution!
You began to feel much more optimistic about your new life.
THE END
