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Ludwig is, by all accounts, incredibly good at his job.
He may not be the most kind or nurturing presence on Earth, sure. And sure, he’s started more senseless beef over throwaway comments than any other streamer in the business. Just the job, baby. But the one thing that he is, if he isn’t nice or pleasant or whatever, is a content savant.
What he makes, and he is good at what he makes, is the highest caliber of mindless styrofoam content, designed specifically to appeal to the lowest common denominator audience of 13-25 year olds. Is he ashamed of this? Sure, somewhere deep in his soul it’s fucking killing him. But he has a bank account bigger than some small countries, so he can learn to suck it up every so often. And yeah, that nagging eventually fades, and then he is on the hunt for a next stream idea or competition or tournament with a clean conscience.
So, when Jerma messages him to say he’s coming to Los Angeles, he knows he has to take advantage of a mutually beneficial scenario. Jerma gets a bump in viewership and Ludwig gets a new audience to bounce his content off of. Content for days — good content too. Fresh content. It’s a win-win.
That’s the simplified explanation for if anyone asks. He likes it black and white like that — easier to quantify why any message from Jerma makes his hands sweat. More money, more views. TikToks. New cars. More trips to Italy and France and Hawaii and wherever else his heart desires. EZ Clap.
But.
In the times where he isn’t thinking about content, where he is just Ludwig watching a YouTube video in his bedroom or eating a poké bowl or being halfway up a climbing wall, the thought returns to him. Jerma would like this. Maybe he should take a picture of that wiener dog at the coffee shop because it looks like the photo Jerma showed him at the Dollhouse between scenes. He looks at his phone before he goes to bed and wonders if he should call Jerma under the guise of asking for content ideas. In Ludwig’s mind, they talk about Twitch culture or Jerma’s newest biggest idea or even about fast food stuff again. Ludwig wants to tuck his phone between his neck and his head and listen as Jerma talks about his day, voice sleepy and warm, laughing at his jokes and asking him what another Internet meme means.
However. Jerma is not as content-pilled as he is — he does shit because he wants to be “creatively fulfilled.” While admirable, it’s fucking annoying. He can call any person on Earth and ask them to play Among Us with him and they jump at the chance. Except for Jerma.
This feeling is not what is generally considered Pog by his standards. It’s disconcerting. In his incredibly blessed existence, he finally wants something that he cannot get easily. If he told Slime, he’d probably tell him it was karma for all the times he was a bad boyfriend or missed a business meeting or said Poggy Woggy in front of a president of a company. He ignores fake-Slime in his head because that shit doesn’t matter.
So when Jerma messages him about being in LA, he doesn’t respond right away because he’s sure him being overeager would scare Jerma off. He’s super cool about it. He goes out and grabs boba with his roommates and Ludwig even pretends to be listening when Aiden and Slime start arguing about Marvel movies again.
“Ludwig, dude,” Nick says. Ludwig looks up from his phone, where he was looking at the message again. Is fifteen minutes long enough to respond? Should he do thirty? “You there?”
The message is literally just hey dude gnona be in LA next week let me know if you want to hang out or something. He’s gotten more well-written and intricate messages from spam bots. And yet.
“Yeah,” Ludwig says, clicking the screen off. “What’s up?”
“I started Aiden’s Cringe and you didn’t sing along,” Nick says. Ludwig looks at all his roommates, who are all staring at him. It’s like a horror movie.
“Just thinkin’ about stuff. You know how it is,” Ludwig says, leaning back in the flimsy café chair. “Fivehead.”
“Doesn’t make sense, but okay,” Nick says.
“Are you thinking about something, baby bear?” Slime says, leaning forward. “You seem depressed, bro.”
“I’m not depressed,” Ludwig says. He literally isn’t. “Someone just messaged me about a collab, I’m just thinking about what to do. Like, it’s nothing.”
“Who?” Aiden says, sipping from his straw. “Schlatt or something?”
“It’s fucking Nadeshot, look at him,” Nick says, gesturing to Ludwig’s shakey leg, his rings clanking against the table. “Or it’s that guy he watches on YouTube all the time.”
“SummoningSalt,” Aiden says. “Or Kurzgesagt.”
“Oh, it’s Atrioc,” Nick says. They all giggle. Ludwig musters up a smile but his brain is back on the message waiting menacingly in his Discord DMs. It's annoying. He's just a guy.
“Nah,” Ludwig says, absentmindedly tracing a circle on the table. “Jerma just said he’d be in town next week.” He shrugs. “That’s all.”
“Oh, Jerma’s in town next week?” Nick says. “You hear that, Slime? Jerma’s in town next week.”
“It’s just Jerma,” Ludwig says again. He doesn’t look at Nick because he knows Nick will be annoying about this. And Slime. And Aiden.
“That’s so interesting, Nick,” Slime says, lacing his fingers together, looking like a dog with a bone. Goddamn it. “He wants to collab or something?”
“He hinted at it, yeah,” Ludwig says, literally so blasé and cool. “I haven’t responded yet.”
“Literally why haven’t you?” Aiden says. "Are you trying to be, like, suave?”
“Jerma will think you’re so cringe if you respond within five minutes, dude,” Nick says, deadpan. “He probably won’t even show up now.”
“I’ll respond, okay? Sheesh. I’m just hanging out with my friends right now. Right?” Ludwig says, leaning forward to slap Aiden on the shoulder. Aiden grimaces back at him.
“Yep,” Slime says, making eye contact with Nick, who shrugs. “Whatever you say, dude.”
The message goes unanswered the rest of their lunch, their ride home, and for ten episodes of One Piece. The whole house is dark and quiet. His snack bowl is empty. He picks up his phone and finally types Name your time and place and I’ll be there <3 and sends it, dropping back on his chest when he’s done.
He returns his attention to the opening sequence of One Piece. His heart is hammering. It’s just Jerma, Jesus Christ. Jerma, who plays Wario in Melee and mispronounces his name 9/10 times. Jerma, who has a smaller audience and a less popular YouTube channel than he does by a magnitude of thousands. Jerma, who has the heart, humor, and ingenuity of twelve larger steamers put together.
Ludwig relaxes deeper into his stupid beanbag chair. He kinda hopes Jerma says he’s busy now. Surely he’s got people to meet and locations to scout and cool projects to start. He’s probably planning, like, an ice cream stream, where he sculpts himself out of ice cream for ten hours and everybody watches and laughs and loves him and Ludwig’s there too, holding the sculpture because he asked him to with his big smile and Ludwig can’t say no.
Bzzt.
He picks up his phone and peers at the screen.
Let’s go dude!! there all weekend whenever you’re fre
Ludwig groans and buries himself deeper in his cushy prison. He lets that one go unanswered too.
Jerma offers to come by the house the next Saturday around five-ish. They decide on a little tour and maybe plan a little local co-op if they both feel up to it. Ludwig has and does and will feel up to it no matter what, but he is very cool about it.
Ludwig spends all of his time beforehand doing his hair, picking out a casual fit, and avoiding everyone in the house so they don’t emotionally devastate him before Jerma even comes in the front door.
He’s very close to achieving that goal — he’s dripped out with his green, yellow, and cream shirt, Hasan’s nice ass pants, and the purple Crocs. Hair looks great too. He hasn’t seen Slime yet and Aiden said he was going to be gone the whole day, so he’s 2 for 3. He’s just gotta show his face briefly so everybody knows he’s alive, and then he will grab Jerma and get them both the fuck out of there. Easy peasy.
He casually strolls up the stairs to the kitchen, where Nick is just hanging out eating a salad and scrolling on his phone. Not great chances, but he can finesse this. He noisily fills his HydroFlash at the sink, takes a huge sip, and sighs his contentment. He’s killing it.
“Lud, there’s someone at the front door,” Nick pipes up, still looking at his phone. Ludwig stiffens, Hydroflask up to his mouth.
“Uh, what makes you say that?” Ludwig says, leaning his hip against the counter and crossing his arms. “Delivery person?”
“No, Jerma got here ten minutes ago and he’s just been chilling on our front porch,” Nick clarifies, turning his phone around so Ludwig can see the live stream of their doorcam open. Jerma is in fact just waiting on the steps, looking at his phone. He’s got his hand on his neck, tugging at the skin there like he’s nervous.
“Jerma’s here?” Ludwig says, a little stunned. He checks his own phone, which is absolutely dry. It’s also like twenty minutes before they’re supposed to meet up. “Did he ring the bell?”
“No, he’s just been waiting,” Nick says, turning his phone back to himself and taking another bite of salad. “I’m just watching him. It’s kinda weird.”
“He is kind of a weird guy,” Ludwig says, forcing himself to relax his grip on his water. “Like in general. This isn’t that weird for him.”
“Should we let him in?” Nick says. “Like, yes, right?”
“Probably,” Ludwig says. They both sit and watch Jerma on the door cam fiddling on his phone. “Don’t tell Slime.”
“Not a word,” Nick says. He’s fucking lying, but Ludwig will take it anyway. Better than just yelling for Slime immediately and sinking any chance with Jerma he ever had.
In a purely content way. A collaboration chance.
“Are you going to go let him in or are you just going to be weird in the kitchen right now?” Nick says.
“If we just go let him in, it means we saw him, right?” Ludwig says. “Like, should it be accidental? Like I’m going to go check the mail and oh, like, Pog you’re here too?”
“I think that’s the play,” Nick says. “Both of you are hopeless, by the way.”
“I have so much hope,” Ludwig says. He checks his hair in the microwave reflection and then squares his shoulders. He looks great. He’s so funny. He just has to pretend that Jerma is Hasan or Schlatt or Sykkuno or Cyr. Just another guy looking for content in all the right places.
He marches up to the front door and the door emits a small beep as he opens it. Jerma jumps a little from where he was leaning against the main pillar and stuffs his phone in his pocket. Ludwig’s heart revvs like an engine. Totally normal guy. So normal.
“Oh! Hey! You’re early!” Ludwig says, bracing his arm against the door. “I was just checking the mail! Fancy seeing you here.”
“Hey dude! Yeah, just got here actually,” Jerma lies. He moves his black Ray-Bans to the top of his head to push the hair out of his eyes. It goes with his tank top and shorts. He looks good, very hip. Ludwig is kind of stuck on the tank top. It’s weird to see him next to his front door. It doesn’t feel like they exist in the same reality.
“Yeah, what luck!” Ludwig says after a short pause. “Come on in, the water’s fine.”
Nick is watching in the foyer with his salad as Ludwig moves back for Jerma to come in. Ludwig raises his eyebrows like get the fuck out of here but Nick shakes his head, eyebrows raised. Like the fucking older brother about to destroy his younger brother’s prom night. Jerma slides off his New Balances as Ludwig shuts the door behind him. He drops half an inch when he straightens back up.
“Hey Jerma,” Nick says, offering his fist. Jerma hesitates for a second before gently bumping it with his own. “Nice to see you, bro.”
“Yeah, you too, man,” Jerma says brightly. “What do you have there? Captain Crunch?”
“Nah, salad,” Nick says, tilting the bowl so they both can see the chunks of romaine covered in ranch. “I gotta go out with Joshman later, I’m pre-jacking.”
“Oh, cool!” Jerma says. He obviously has no clue who that is or what that means. He’s fidgeting with his phone. “Sick.”
“You better go get ready for that, hey?” Ludwig says instead of spending fifteen minutes explaining to Jerma who Josh is or what pre-jacking is or why there are a couple of Australians loose in their house at certain times. He feels like grabbing Jerma’s arm and taking him down to his streaming room and locking the fucking door and hunkering until the nuclear fallout subsides.
“Nah, I got time,” Nick says, taking another bite and gesturing to the both of them. “What are you guys doing?”
“Planning out a stream,” Ludwig says. “Some local co-op. You know how it is.”
“Hell yeah, man,” Nick says. “Melee?”
Ludwig shakes his head, lips pursed. Jerma is ten inches away from him in his actual home and Nick is about to bully him about Melee. They should’ve just met somewhere else.
“Too bad,” Nick says, literally puffing up to start lecturing about Melee like an old man. “Jerma, if you ever want to learn, let me know. This guy’s retired.”
“I will. Totally,” Jerma says. He looks vaguely terrified. “Eventually.”
“Thousand on him beating HBox next year at Genesis,” Ludwig says quickly, sticking his hand out. If they make a bet, Nick might fucking leave.
“No shot, but deal,” Nick says. He returns the handshake, and Ludwig will literally pay him a thousand right now to leave him alone.
“This is a beautiful house, by the way,” Jerma says, apropos of nothing. Nick nods, taking another bite. “Lots of marble.”
“Would you like to see more of it?” Ludwig says, strained. Jerma smiles tightly at him and nods, and Ludwig basically grabs him, turns him around, and pushes him away from Nick and all of the things he could use to ruin their burgeoning relationship. Business relationship.
“Have fun!” Nick calls from behind them. Ludwig rolls his eyes. He leads Jerma gently through the foyer and then down the stairs, where his streaming room and the second kitchen reside. Jerma’s bare shoulder is warm under his hand. Ludwig snatches it back and tucks it into his pocket.
“He was nice!” Jerma says. “Nick seems cool.”
“Seems is a word that’s carrying a lot of weight there,” Ludwig says. “But yeah, he’s alright. I did have to get you out of there before he started proselytizing about Melee.”
“No, I get it, man,” Jerma says, rubbing his bare arms as the air conditioner buzzes. “It’s a great game.”
“You play Wario,” Ludwig says, smiling.
“And?” Jerma says. “If even I understand it, you know. Must be pretty pog.”
“I think you’re just a beast of a gamer,” Ludwig says. He pushes open the door to his stream room and holds it so Jerma can slip past him and gape at his ski chalet of a set.
He gives him the two-cent tour, which is to deliberately explain every single little quirky item in hope it’ll get him to laugh, which it does quite frequently. He explains his stream-set up, along with tech specs for his computer, keyboard, and every program he runs in order to stream the way he does. Jerma laughs at the appropriate times and asks questions about graphic cards and mechanical keyboards and mousepads. He grabs them both a drink from his gamer fridge and they stand around talking about video cards like old men. It’s nice. Ludwig could probably do this forever.
Jerma leans over to run his fingers over the couch and Ludwig gets a random shiver. Seeing him next to his couch, his jawline sharp and eyes dark in the dim light — it’s like seeing his childhood crush come to his door naked. Or another platonic scenario.
“Dude, this is crazy,” Jerma murmurs, mesmerized. “I got like one ring light and a bunch of shit in the background, and you have a whole movie set.”
“Well, stream every day for a month, you lazy ass,” Ludwig says, sitting down on the couch and splaying his knees out. “The grindset doesn’t stop just because you get tired, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jerma says bashfully, looking at his feet. Then Ludwig feels like an asshole. Doesn’t he have like health problems and shit? Fuck.
“Nah, nah, I’m just joking,” Ludwig says as his last-ditch attempt at taking his foot out of his mouth. “I like your set-up!”
“You do?” Jerma says, skeptically. He hasn’t sat down yet, so he’s just standing over him a little bit, just watching intently. Ludwig puts his hands behind his head, swallowing hard.
“Yeah, it’s homegrown! It’s rough, but it’s like the old days of YouTube. Why change it if it’s not broken, right?” Ludwig says. Still sounds kinda mean.
“I don’t know, man,” Jerma says. “I actually just bought the ring light because I was thinking about you and your stuff and how good it looks.”
“Really? Because of me?” Ludwig says. Oh fuck. His heartbeat spikes a little in his chest. Jerma thinks he looks good.
His set. His set looks good. Down, boy.
Jerma tucks his hair behind his ear as he nods. His hands are big and well-shaped, with thin, long fingers. Piano player hands. Jerma playing the organ on Dollhouse comes to his mind, playing some little song as Ludwig came up behind him. He could teach him more, maybe. Put his hands over his and push his fingers down gently into the keys, Ludwig standing tall behind him. Jerma’s not the tallest man, but Ludwig kinda likes it — likes how Jerma’s face can rest on his shoulder when they hug, likes seeing him look up at him. It’s cool.
They’ve been sitting in silence for a few seconds, just smiling at each other. Ludwig straightens up and clears his throat when he realizes and Jerma snaps out of whatever daze he’s in. They both look away.
“Uh,” Ludwig says, running his hand through his hair. “So, the stream.”
“Yeah, it‘s going to be good!” Jerma says fervently. “I could sit, I guess, next to you? As we play?”
“Yeah! Or even in the main chair. I’ve had it too good for too long,” Ludwig says. “And you’re the star!”
“I don’t think I’m the star,” Jerma demurs. “I’m just a guy. You’re the star. It’s your channel.”
“When I come visit you in Las Vegas and stream in your set-up, then I’ll be the star. Not a second earlier.” Ludwig says.
“I’d love that, honestly,” Jerma says. “You could meet my dog or whatever. I could show you some great spots. Casinos and shit.”
“Yeah? You’re on,” Ludwig says. It’s so easy to like him. He doesn’t understand why Jerma isn’t the biggest streamer on the platform — he’s so creative and funny and he’s hot. He’s so hot. His eyes are so blue. If he was five inches taller, he could’ve been in movies or some shit. But now he’s just here, in his stream room, a life-size Jackie Chan ten feet away.
“Deal,” Jerma says. He finally sits down next to him, their thighs just brushing. “If you lose all your money, it’s not my fault.”
“You’re a degen at heart. I always knew.”
“A ‘degen?’” Jerma asks lightly, the way he always does when he doesn’t get slang. “Is that something I should know?”
“A degenerate,” Ludwig explains. “Just a dirty piece of shit. I know you are. I can feel it on you.”
“Is it that obvious?” Jerma says. Ludwig looks over at him and there’s a mess of emotions on Jerma’s face that he can’t decipher. “I thought I was hiding it so well.”
Jerma shifts his weight and his thigh presses against Ludwig’s and stays there. Maybe he forgot to move it. Common mistake. On a completely unrelated note, Ludwig feels like his whole body is buzzing, like bees are making honey just under his skin.
“I knew it,” Ludwig says. “You’ve got a dark side. Don’t tell me — underground dogfighting ring?”
“No!” Jerma says, actually scandalized. “Oh my God, no way. No. No, much tamer than that.”
“That’s our baseline, got it.” Ludwig tucks his face against his shoulder so he can look at Jerma more. “Hard drugs?”
“No, none of that either,” Jerma says, looking back at him. “Thank God. I’m just a little… off. Strange.”
“You’re the most normal man I’ve ever met,” Ludwig says. Not true. “Surely you put your pants on one leg at a time like the rest of us.”
“Mm,” Jerma hums. He looks up at the ceiling, contemplating. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, turning it swollen and red. “Hey, if you want something you shouldn’t really, really bad, does that make you a bad person?”
Ludwig blows airs through his lips. Here he was, thinking they’d talk Super Monkey Ball for an hour and then go get In and Out.
“Depends on what it is?” Ludwig says, hedging his bets. “Wanting to gamble doesn’t make you a bad person. Just means you’re alive in this beautiful world.”
“No,” Jerma says. He looks over to Ludwig again and doesn’t look away. His eyes are blue and his lips are red and his leg is warm against his. “I wasn’t talking about gambling.”
Ludwig swallows. His throat is dry. There’s a Mountain Dew in his freezer but no shot he gets up now. This is a purely platonic interaction that will boost both of their brands. Surely Jerma will remind him of that. Any second now.
“Yeah?” Ludwig says, his voice scratchy. “What — what were you talking about something else?”
Jerma flits his eyes over him quickly — the collar of his shirt, his knees, his belt buckle, the arms behind his head — and he looks away. “Nah, man. It’s nothing.”
“You have to tell me now,” Ludwig says. If it’s a little desperate, he hopes Jerma doesn’t notice. “You clickbaited me!”
“This is a really nice room,” Jerma says again, clumsily changing the subject. Ludwig feels like he watched the train he’s been waiting for for months pull away from the station and he forgot to get on. He missed his line. He’s waiting for the wings and no one signaled him for his cue.
“Jerma,” Ludwig says, shifting his body so he’s facing him. It feels more intimate like this — them on the couch, heads together like kids at a sleepover. “Please tell me. I swear. Not a word to anyone.”
Jerma fights an internal conflict right in front of him, going on a face journey only rivaled by bad actors in porn and characters in L.A Noire. It looks agonizing. He almost feels bad.
“I,” Jerma starts off. His eyelashes are long and dark against his cheek. “I don’t.”
It is exhausting to pretend you don’t want something. Ludwig lives a very blessed existence, and right now he’s losing sleep because a guy may or may not want to suck his dick. It’s fucking stupid. Ludwig makes an executive decision to stop playing stupid because he isn’t and he’s tired of convincing himself he is.
“Jerma,” Ludwig says quietly. Jerma turns to him and his eyes are wide and he looks so happy to see him this close. He looked like that in Dollhouse too, when Ludwig was just Ludwig, bare to his crocs and not pretending to be someone else. Just him and Jerma, laughing to themselves on the floor.
The kiss isn’t something that someone specifically initiates — it’s more of something that Ludwig wants really bad and then Jerma’s hand is on his shirt and his eyes close and Jerma’s mouth is chapped and dry against his.
It’s not a great kiss — Ludwig breathes raggedly into Jerma’s mouth and Jerma’s hands are shaking on the collar of his shirt, but it’s more than the sum of its parts. It feels like he’s been traveling all day and he just got home, like this is a place he can rest for a second.
“Jerma,” he pants, and Jerma presses his mouth to his again and again, so gently, like Ludwig will change his mind and tell him to stop. As if. “Jerma.”
“Yes,” Jerma breathes, breaking away. His hand goes up to hold Ludwig’s cheek face, slowly stroking his cheekbone with a finger. “Ludwig.”
He thinks that he should probably swing his leg over Jerma’s lap and suck his dick or finger himself like he’s been practicing so Jerma could fuck him. He thinks of it now — Jerma’s hot breath in his ear, calling him perfect, saying how good he is, running those hands all over his chest. Fucking him in missionary so they get to kiss the whole time, watching him pant and moan and try to hide his face beneath his arm as he cums.
Ludwig shifts his weight a little bit. He wants it, but he thinks if he asked Jerma would leave the house so quickly it would leave an indent in the door. Unfortunately. But there’s a whole new world out there now.
“I,” Ludwig whispers. “My friends all make fun of me for talking about you so much. It’s crazy. You put a curse on me.”
“Sorry,” Jerma says. Ludwig kisses him again and Jerma presses in a little harder, curling his fingers around his neck to keep him there. He slings a leg over Ludwig’s lap to get a better angle, which makes Ludwig gasp quietly, and rests his forehead on his.
“If it’s any consolation,” Jerma says quietly, running a finger down the front of Ludwig’s shirt. “I stayed up the entire night after Schooled thinking about you. I couldn’t stop. I felt so creepy and weird.“
“So not creepy, by the way,” Ludwig says fervently, “Not in the slightest. No way.”
Jerma leans away and beams down at him. He’s so warm on his lap, like his own space heater. “Maybe I should’ve suggested two games. Battleship and fucking Monopoly or something’.”
“Okay, I would’ve said yes, but you would’ve really made me work for it,” Ludwig says. Jerma giggles again and his cheeks are hot when Ludwig puts his hand up to them.
SLAM.
“Hey!”
Ludwig feels his fight or flight reflex kick in as Jerma freezes and skitters off him back to his side of the couch. His heart rates spikes so hard he gets light-headed. Jerma buries his face in his hands.
Slime stands at the door of his office, shirtless. His shirt is wrapped around his bald head, Joker smile on. Fuck. Slime's gonna shoot both of them.
“Hey, we were kind of busy,” Ludwig stutters, crossing his legs very tightly.
“I heard Jerma was here and he didn’t say hello!” Slime says, walking into the room with a smile and parking himself in front of them. He either doesn’t know that they were making out or doesn’t give a shit. “I didn’t know you were coming today, bro!”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” Ludwig says miserably. “Because I knew this would happen.”
“You guys are crazy. Jerma, dude, I love your content. You’re so funny.”
“Thanks, man,” Jerma says. He peeks through his fingers up at Slime. “I get a lot of help. With stuff. Ludwig.”
“Hey, I hear that,” Slime says. “Anyway, just wanted to say hi. You guys can go back to putting fingers up butts or whatever.” He rubs his hands together and gives him a thumbs up. “Warning though, this guy is the Usain Bolt of cumming.”
“Thanks, Slime,” Ludwig says, sinking down in his seat.
“No prob, Lud. Make sure to tell him about the time you shaved your ass every week for a year,” Slime says casually. “And the time you jerked off in a bathroom at Snapchat to digital titties.”
He leans close to Ludwig’s ear and says “Karma, motherfucker.” Ludwig feels verklempt. He feels like a husk. His boner has never died so quickly.
“Nice to meet you, man,” Jerma says, voice strained.
“You too! See you around,” Slime beams at him. “You’re so cool. Come say goodbye when you're out of fluids. Bye, lovebirds!” Slime says, before flipping Ludwig off and disappearing back through the door, his shirt fluttering behind him.
They both sit in silence for a second. Ludwig covers his face with both of his hands.
“He seems nice!” Jerma says. He puts an arm around the couch back. Ludwig collapses inward toward him. Jerma’s hand stutters and then slowly rests on his back.
“I’m not the Usain Bolt of cumming,” Ludwig says fervently. “I can just re-populate the world more quickly. I’ll actually be more in demand.”
“That makes sense to me,” Jerma says. “Can I just ask also — did you actually really want to stream? With me? Or was this…?”
“Oh. Yeah,” Ludwig says, streamer brain kicking in. “I thought I could milk two or three out of you before you go. I was actually thinking we could do a bunch of little streams and maybe a Taste The Menu. You said you liked the Sonic drinks, which could be very Pog and very Champ. Then maybe a Bro versus Bro. And I’m getting you on some sort of game show if it kills me.”
“If you don’t mind me being the weirdest, most awkward person on the planet,” Jerma says, running his hand up his back.
“Never did,” Ludwig says, and Jerma rolls his eyes.