behind the streams | dnf

two | selfless

GEORGE

The newfound silence bounces through the air even though my headset rings with faint echoes, still hearing the chime of the last donation. I stare at the voice channel, watching Sapnap's icon linger for half a second longer before disappearing. A small bead of unease, at the stream and its off-ness, it sits naggingly but it's short-lived and easy to shake off.

I hunch up one knee to my chest, a hand resting tentatively on the mouse. Pressing two fingers to my lips, my eyes glide to the time displayed in the bottom right corner, taking the digits and subtracting 5 hours to account for the Floridian setback. I'm spot on.

I sit forward, hands reaching towards the keyboard as I type out three letters in the search bar before the autofill takes me to Twitch. Looking over the live channels, hope rises and falls in the slowest arcs but I tell myself it's still early.

After a few minutes, I click refresh.

It's time.

Once.

Twice.

I'm already worrying that he's changed his mind last minute as I force myself to click again, but then there it is.

The red dot, next to his name. For the first time in a while, a while I can't pinpoint but it's enough to be notable. 

My free hand grabs the front of my hoodie and hitches it up to my mouth as I try to hide a smile. Pleasant surprise blooms in my chest despite how I've technically had several days of heads-up; I guess I really didn't think he was going to do it.

He's live.

I click on the stream and see similar expressions of excitement and shock in the chat, an occasion as momentous as the very sky falling. Leaning back in my chair, I find myself grinning freely as I pull my hood over my head and let out a breath.

He's live. He did it.

A hand presses on my cheek as he begins talking to the chat, welcomes and hellos, characteristically kind but with the slightest tinge of understandable nerves. After several minutes, the game begins in earnest as the individuality is broken by a variety of voices and enthusiastic greetings.

It's just Among Us. I watch him customize his character, adding a Christmas hat. But it's a step, and that's okay.

The screen descends into the opening transition, I rest my chin on my knee. It's a step, and I'm proud of him.

It's been a rough couple months.

Everything that comes with a career like this, everything that comes with extraordinary success like his. But he received the brunt of it all, in extremes that fell just short of ridiculous, and despite the absolute irrationality of everything, the damage was done and we were all well-aware.

He knew, he knew, but it hit him hard; the end of the streams were just the surface, as they hid so much he couldn't let the viewers see.

But he let me in. Late nights through text, occasional calls if the stress was especially unbearable, as his vulnerability dropped with the hours and I listened and tried to understand.

It worked. Because he came back, and he continued, and so did I. Taking away some of the burden to the point where he could tell me anything. The conversations frequented, they became routine, and sometimes we even reached subjects above their ugly origination.

Pushing back sleep schedules, gradually lining them up even through the time zones and falling under absurd stages of day.

Only naturally, he came to me several days ago, as soon as he was invited to the current lobby. I remember the light back-and-forth, walking him through, looking at both sides as a decision was made, a choice was settled.

I look at the screen now, see the red circle around his icon and the thousands of viewers, the astounding number that still creeps higher with each passing minute. Coming back to something that affected him so harshly in the first place, it can't be easy.

It's a step. It seems small, but there's something in listening to him talk right now, with the warmth that's been missed by so many, and the victory feels shared. With them. With me. With him.

Eventually, the initial apprehension dies away, smothered by a blanket of welcoming relief, coaxing me out of my chair and out of my room for the first time in several hours. I leave my headphones on, somewhat listening to the game as I heat up some leftovers for a long-overdue meal. My watchfulness dulls as the games pass, but I'm aware of how he fits right in with the other players. It's not hard to guess what's happening from the constant conversations that come with a proximity mod, but I still make my way back to the monitors anyways, just in time for an impostor round.

Half watching, half scrolling on social media, part of me subconsciously laughs at how worried I was earlier, when now it goes so seamlessly. I look up and watch as he talks freely with another player, who's completely oblivious of the role he plays.

He sounds happy. He's laughing, and the smile grows on my face too as it brings further reprieves of relief.

It's better than I could have hoped for. Everything's going well, very well. Likewise, the chat's expressive in their content as I watch the emotes consume the entirety of the room.

Time flies, as it always does, in the combination of his stream and the entrances of social media, but the heaviness on my eyelids is undeniable as the stream passes the three hour mark. I blink violently several times, furrowing my brows at the painful brightness of the monitor and I need a reminder of why I'm still awake?

Picking up my phone, opening my messages with him, and staring at the last bubble at the bottom left of the screen. 

I'll tell you how it goes

He'll tell me. And it's going fine. So why am I still up? 

Maybe he needs to talk today. I chew my bottom lip. Returning to something that set him back so badly, it is a lot. There could be something terribly wrong and he wouldn't dare let it show in any way. The streams hide a lot. 

I eye the monitor that displays the game. He stands still, waiting for an unfortunate someone to wander near him. 

Part of me feels obliged to stay, and I'm not entirely sure why. I'm very likely overthinking things and realistically, he's just as pleasant as the stream makes him out to be. 

But I kind of just want to talk to him again, late at night when all judgement melts away. 

I'll stay up. He might need me. At least that's what I tell myself.