on camera. ♱ woosan

( 𝟣𝟢. ) ── breaking you in two. breaking me in three.

"This is so damn annoying," San muttered, frustration lacing his tone as he wrestled with a tangled mess of cables. He squinted at the pamphlet in his hand, the printed directions blurring into an indecipherable jumble the longer he stared.

Setting up a webcam and monitor should have been simple—just match a few cords to the correct ports—but for someone like him, who'd never been big on elaborate PC setups, it felt like navigating a maze.

His current gear—a prebuilt PC, an Amazon headset, and a gaming chair gifted by a friend—had always been enough for his needs. But this was different. He needed the upgrade now. If he was serious about following through with his plan, his old setup just wouldn't cut it anymore.

San had pulled the plug on Kittyyoung's streams months ago. It wasn't an easy decision, but the whole thing left a bitter taste in his mouth. Watching felt... wrong. Like slipping into a room he wasn't supposed to be in, lingering too long where he didn't belong. It reminded him of those creeps in movies—the kind who peek through slats in the blinds, their breath fogging up the glass.

He couldn't shake the feeling, so he quit cold turkey. No streams, no videos, no notifications lighting up his phone. He even hit the unfollow button on socials, severing the last visible ties.

The timing was ironic, really. They'd started hanging out more—him, Wooyoung, and sometimes Wooyoung's other confidants like Yeosang or Jongho. They'd laugh over takeout, toss around inside jokes, and talk until their voices turned soft and frayed at the edges.

San liked to think they were close now. Friends, maybe even good friends. But that thought came with a quiet insecurity, a little voice whispering, What if it's all in your head?

Still, being friends changed things. Watching Wooyoung slip into Kitty's skin felt voyeuristic, too close for comfort. The performative charm, the smirk Wooyoung wore so effortlessly on screen—it wasn't meant for him anymore. So San swore he wouldn't watch. He told himself it was out of respect, but deep down, it was more complicated than that.

Last night, that pledge shattered. He hadn't meant for it to happen, but something inside him had been coiled tight for months. Kitty's streams had been an anchor for him once, a tether to something vibrant and alive. Cutting himself off had left him restless, like he was constantly searching for something just out of reach.

And it made no sense, did it? The real Wooyoung was right there—just a text away, a call away, flesh and blood within arm's reach. But it wasn't the same.

It didn't scratch the itch, didn't fill that hollow ache. So, last night, with his heart pounding and guilt buzzing under his skin, San caved.

He clicked on the stream.

And god,

He currently regretted it a lot less than he thought he would.

The decision to apply for Kittyyoung's collab wasn't something San had mulled over for long. In fact, it was practically instinctual. As soon as the stream ended, he was already pulling up his browser to order the necessary gear. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he pulled up tabs for webcams and microphones, his mind spinning faster than he could keep up. And now, at exactly 5:12pm, the overnight shipping proved to be worth it.

Staring at the application pinned to Kittyyoung's Kakao, he remembers letting out a few slow breaths. The form itself wasn't intimidating. It didn't demand sky-high follower counts or an established reputation. It just asked for...  something to stand out, to catch Kitty's eye.

In theory, that left the door open for anyone.

In reality, San wasn't holding his breath.

Kittyyoung was sitting comfortably at 100,000 followers now. With numbers like that, there had to be dozens—no, hundreds—of camboys throwing their hats into the ring. Itching to breed his ass or fuck him unconscious. Streamers with polished setups. With dedicated audiences.