Archive of Our Own

-England April 2025-

First sat at a desk cluttered by his own standards. In reality it was still cleaner than most of the office, two folders sitting open beside his keyboard instead of neatly stacked away, three empty coffee cups pushed off to the side and his coding program glowing against the dark of the room.

The NPC still refused to cooperate.

He had tested the sequence five times now and each time the character stopped halfway through the interaction before wandering directly into a wall instead of curling up beside the space heater like it was supposed to.

It was four in the morning. He was running on a bagel, caffeine and growing irritation, his fourth cup of coffee now lukewarm beside him. In five hours he had therapy and he was nowhere near ready to go home yet.

Behind him, Off snored loudly from the old couch shoved against the wall of the studio office, one arm hanging off the side and a hoodie thrown over his face to block the light from the monitors.

First sighed quietly through his nose before leaning back in his chair. The office around them sat mostly dark now, only a few desk lamps and monitor screens still glowing. Rain tapped softly against the windows overlooking the city.

Almost absentmindedly he unlocked his phone and opened Twitter again. Ever since the demo for Eclipsed dropped three days ago he’d been keeping an eye on reactions online. Mostly out of anxiety more than curiosity. Years of work reduced to clips, reviews and first impressions from strangers.

So far people seemed to love it. Especially one streamer in particular. His timeline kept filling with clips of him.

First didn’t know much about him beyond the fact his username was GlitterShot and apparently half the indie gaming community was obsessed with him. Every other post was either clips from his streams, edits of his reactions or people begging him to play another demo.

Tonight though, one clip caught First’s attention enough to actually unmute it.

Khaotung sat cross legged in his chair under warm yellow lighting, glitter scattered beneath his eyes and an oversized pink hoodie slipping off one shoulder while he spoke animatedly to chat.

“I’ve literally been waiting years for this demo,” he admitted, pausing the game while rain poured softly across the screen. “Like— okay maybe this sounds dramatic for ten minutes of gameplay but this world feels…”

He trailed off, eyes flickering back toward the game.

“Lonely.”

First’s thumb stilled against his phone.

Khaotung kept talking, voice softer now.

“The rain never really stops. The lighting stays cold until the cat interacts with somebody and then suddenly there’s warmth for like… half a second.” He laughed quietly. “Which is kind of devastating actually?”

“I don’t think this game is trying to make you win,” Khaotung continued after another second, eyes fixed on the screen. “I think it wants you to stay.”

Something uncomfortable twists low in First’s chest.

Behind him Off snorted awake suddenly. “If that stupid cat walks into the wall one more time I’m deleting the whole game.”

First locked his phone immediately.

Off blinked blearily up at him from beneath the hoodie. “Why do you look guilty?”

“I don’t.”

“You absolutely do.” Off sat up slowly, squinting toward First’s monitor before his eyes narrowed. “Wait. Are you doomscrolling reviews again?”

First turned back toward his screen. “I was checking bug reports.”

“Mhmm.”

Silence settled again for a moment aside from the tapping rain and the quiet hum of computers.

Then, despite himself, First unlocked his phone again.

The clip was still playing. Khaotung had unpaused the game now, the little orange cat moving carefully through the dim alleyway while soft piano music drifted through his speakers.

“Oh,” Khaotung whispered suddenly.

The cat had stopped beside one of the NPCs huddled beneath an awning. After a moment it nudged its head against the character’s hand. For the first time in the demo sunlight broke weakly through the clouds overhead.

Khaotung went completely quiet. Then softly, almost like he was talking to himself instead of the thousands watching him live, he murmured,

“It feels like the world is waiting for something to come back.”

First stared at the screen a second too long.

The clip looped.

Rain. Piano. The cat pressing itself carefully against the NPC’s hand. Weak sunlight spilling across cracked pavement.

Then Khaotung’s voice again.

“It feels like the world is waiting for something to come back.”

Something tight pulled sharply in First’s chest. He clicked out of the clip before he could think too hard about it. Or before he could replay it a third time.

“You know,” Off said from behind him, voice rough with sleep, “normal people just develop games. They don’t sit around watching streamers psychoanalyze them at four in the morning.”

First slid his phone face down onto the desk. “Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t.” Off yawned loudly before dragging himself upright on the couch. “Gun ordered breakfast for the team and I can smell it.”

As if summoned by the mention of him, the office door slammed open hard enough to make First flinch slightly in his chair. Gun swept inside carrying a cardboard tray of coffees in one hand and several paper bags in the other.

“Rise and grind, indie losers!” he announced dramatically before stopping short. “Oh my god. Why do you both look like Victorian children dying of tuberculosis?”

“First’s been stalking streamers again,” Off answered immediately.

“I was checking reactions.”

“Mhm.” Gun dropped the bags onto the nearest desk before narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Which streamer?”

“No one.”

“That means it’s serious,” Off muttered.

First ignored both of them, turning back toward his monitor as he reran the NPC sequence again. The cat crossed the alley properly this time before promptly clipping halfway through a dumpster.

He closed his eyes.

Gun leaned over his shoulder a moment later. “Ohhh, you’re still fixing the heater interaction?”

“The pathing keeps breaking.”

“That’s because you coded the NPC to hesitate before approaching the cat,” Gun pointed out around a sip of coffee. “You literally programmed anxiety into him.”

“It’s intentional.”

“It’s annoying,” Off corrected.

First opened his mouth to argue before his phone lit up again beside the keyboard.

Another notification. Someone had tagged the official Eclipsed account.

Gun spotted the username immediately.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, snatching the phone before First could stop him. “GlitterShot?!”

“Give it back.”

“No way.” Gun stared at the screen with widening eyes. “Wait, this is the guy everyone’s obsessed with right now. He’s the one making those forty minute analysis videos.”

Off perked up from the couch instantly. “The pretty one?”

Gun pointed accusingly across the room. “See? Even Off knows who he is.”

“I know because JJ won’t stop sending me clips.”

Gun ignored him completely and hit play on the newest tagged video. Khaotung appeared on screen again instantly, bright and animated beneath purple-tinted lighting now, his chat flying beside him so quickly it blurred together.

“You guys don’t get it,” Khaotung insisted dramatically while clutching his headset cord. “The environmental storytelling in this game is insane.”

First felt heat crawl unpleasantly up the back of his neck.

Gun sat directly on the edge of his desk. “Oh this is dangerous.”

Khaotung continued rambling, pausing occasionally to point things out on screen.

“The apartments aren’t messy in a normal apocalypse way,” he explained. “They feel abandoned carefully. Like people thought they were coming back.”

First went very still.

“And every safe space has warm lighting,” Khaotung continued. “Candles, lamps, sunlight, heaters— even the colors change when the cat trusts somebody.”

Off slowly lowered the breakfast sandwich he’d been eating. Gun glanced toward First. Neither of them spoke.

On screen Khaotung suddenly laughed softly at himself, rubbing a hand beneath one eye.

“Sorry, I know I’m getting emotional over a cat game again,” he admitted. “But it just feels…” He searched for the words for a moment. “It feels like somebody loved this world a lot while they were making it.”

The office fell completely silent. First reached over abruptly and took the phone back from Gun. Not rough. Just fast enough to end the conversation.

Gun blinked at him once before something in his expression shifted subtly. First locked his phone again and stood from his chair.

“I’m getting more coffee.”

“You haven’t even finished your last one,” Off called after him.

First grabbed his hoodie from the back of the chair without answering.

Because suddenly the office felt too warm.

And much, much too small.

-Thailand April 2025-

Khaotung released a slow breath as he rolled over in bed, immediately squinting against the brightness of his phone screen. Notifications crowded nearly every app he opened, Twitter mentions, Twitch clips, Tumblr reposts, comments flooding beneath edits people had already made from last night’s stream. Apparently spending almost two hours emotionally unraveling over a game demo had resonated with people.

He groaned softly and dropped back against his pillows.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself. “Maybe I was a little insane about it.”

The problem was he genuinely couldn’t help it. He had been waiting years for Eclipsed.

Ever since 2023.

His thumb hovered over one particular repost from the stream before he clicked it open again. It was the clip where he’d paused the game to talk about the lighting design and how the world only seemed to soften once the cat trusted someone.

The clip already had over a hundred thousand likes. Khaotung immediately exited out of it before he could embarrass himself further by reading the quote tweets.

Instead he pushed himself upright slowly, sunlight spilling warm and golden through the windows of his apartment. Plants crowded nearly every available surface, vines hanging beside shelves lined with collector editions, candles, stacked sketchbooks and abandoned mugs from the night before.

Comfortable.
Messy.
His.

Nothing like the hotel room in England.

The memory surfaced before he could stop it.

Cold air had hit against his cheeks as he wandered unfamiliar streets alone for the first time in days after finally convincing Napat to let him leave the hotel by himself for a few hours.

Not that Napat had been cruel about it. If anything he’d been too attentive back then. Trips with Napat had always ended the same way somehow. Expensive hotel rooms, tangled sheets, room service trays abandoned for hours because neither of them bothered leaving bed long enough to sightsee properly.

At first Khaotung had thought it was romantic. Wanted. Passionate.

But by England something about it had started feeling strangely isolating instead. Like the world kept happening outside the windows without him.

He remembered standing near the hotel elevator that afternoon trying to ignore the guilt curling in his stomach just for wanting to go explore by himself.

“Just don’t get lost,” Napat had sighed distractedly from the bed, already reaching for his phone again.

Khaotung smiled faintly now at the memory as he reached for the water bottle on his nightstand.

He had gotten lost actually. That was how he found the expo.

The event had taken over nearly an entire street, colorful banners hanging overhead while music and overlapping conversations spilled from open doors. Khaotung remembered wandering through it aimlessly at first, overwhelmed in the best way possible. Gaming had always done that to him. Pulled at him.

Then he’d spotted the booth tucked near the back corner of the event hall.

Small compared to the others. Quiet. Rain sounds drifted softly from hidden speakers overhead while a tiny orange cat wandered across the screen through dark alleyways soaked in neon reflections.

Khaotung remembered stopping almost immediately.

Then a bright voice had called out to him.

“Do you wanna try?”

A small guy wearing too many pins on his lanyard smiled at him from behind the booth, visibly excited someone had actually stopped. Khaotung remembered laughing softly before sitting down at the station while the employee launched the game for him.

Ten minutes. The demo had only lasted ten minutes. But Khaotung still remembered exactly how it felt.

Lonely.

Not empty.
Not horror.

A quieter loneliness.

The kind that settled beside you gently and stayed there.

He remembered the cat wandering silently through rain soaked streets while soft music echoed through his headphones. He remembered flickering lights inside abandoned apartments, tiny details left behind that made the world feel painfully lived in.

Cups left on tables. Blankets folded carefully. Lights still glowing in empty windows. Like everyone had meant to come back.

One moment had stayed with him more vividly than all the others.

The cat curled beside a sweater far too long to be considered normal. The cat then turned back in that specific house as if it never wanted to leave as the screen got darker and colder.

Khaotung remembered staring at the screen afterward long enough for the employee to ask quietly if he’d liked it.

Liked it wasn’t the right word. The game had understood something about him before he had words for it himself. Because not long after England the cracks with Napat had widened into something impossible to ignore. The loneliness he’d been trying to dismiss had finally started taking shape.

And somehow that tiny unfinished cat game had seen it first.

Khaotung grabbed his phone again before he could sink too deeply into the memory.

Without thinking he reopened Twitter. The official Eclipsed account had posted overnight, a simple thank you message alongside concept art of the orange cat curled beneath a flickering streetlamp.

Khaotung stared at the image for a moment before smiling softly to himself.

Then immediately liked it from both his main and private account.

A beat passed.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, dropping face first into his pillow. “You’re obsessed.”

-England May 2025-

First did not want to think too hard about the fact it was two in the morning and he was pulling up GlitterShot’s stream for the third time that week. Especially because it had started accidentally.

After that first night JJ had begun dropping clips from Khaotung’s streams into the group chat almost daily, usually followed by Gun sending six dramatic messages about how “the pretty streamer gets it.” First had opened them mostly out of irritation at first.

Then curiosity. Then apparently habit.

A week later he’d searched for Khaotung’s Twitch account.

First found him a little loud if he was being honest. A little dramatic. All glitter and oversized sweaters and animated hand gestures while he rambled passionately about games for sometimes hours at a time. Exactly the kind of personality First had spent years quietly avoiding.

The first ten times he heard him grin at chat and chirp, “Sparkle away!” before launching into some emotional rant about environmental storytelling, First had physically cringed.

Now though, now he found himself muttering it under his breath sometimes before Khaotung even said it.

Which was deeply embarrassing.

Rain tapped softly against the windows of First’s apartment while the stream loaded across his second monitor. The glow from the screen painted pale light across the otherwise dark living room, the only other illumination coming from the kitchen lamp he’d forgotten to turn off hours ago.

Khaotung appeared on screen a moment later already halfway through a story.

“—and then he told me I was overanalyzing the wallpaper,” Khaotung complained dramatically to chat while gesturing with a chopstick. “Which okay maybe I was but if you put peeling flower wallpaper specifically in a child’s room I’m going to assume it means something!”

Chat flew past too quickly to read. First quietly set his tea down beside the keyboard before leaning back in his chair. This had become strangely routine over the last month. Late nights. Coding. Khaotung talking in the background.

Sometimes First barely paid attention beyond the sound of his voice filling the apartment. Other times he caught himself watching too closely, waiting for reactions during specific scenes in games.

Especially Eclipsed. Khaotung still talked about it constantly. Not in the obnoxious clout-chasing way other streamers had after the demo exploded online. Khaotung talked about it carefully, thoughtfully, replaying sections just to point out tiny environmental details most people would never notice.

Tonight though he was replaying another indie horror game while curled sideways in his chair beneath warm fairy lights.

First frowned slightly as Khaotung approached an NPC interaction on screen.

“That trigger’s gonna break,” he muttered automatically. Right as the words left his mouth the NPC froze halfway through the scripted sequence.

Khaotung immediately burst into laughter.

“Oh no,” he wheezed, covering his face. “Baby girl’s pathfinding exploded.”

First snorted quietly before he could stop himself. Then immediately looked around his empty apartment like someone might’ve witnessed it.

On screen Khaotung was still laughing while chat spammed emotes fast enough to blur together.

“It’s okay,” Khaotung assured the NPC affectionately. “You’re trying your best.”

First shook his head faintly before glancing back toward his own monitor, fingers returning to the code he’d been debugging.

A beat later Khaotung spoke again, softer this time.

“Honestly though,” he admitted while restarting the scene, “I kinda love when games leave little mistakes in sometimes.”

First paused mid typing.

“It reminds you there were real people behind it.” Khaotung shrugged lightly. “I think games feel warmer when you can tell somebody cared while making them.”

Something uncomfortable twists low in First’s chest again. It had started happening more often lately while listening to these streams. Little moments that lingered too long afterward.

Without thinking his eyes drifted toward the chat moving endlessly beside the stream.

He’d considered typing before. Only briefly. Tiny corrections mostly. Developer instincts he couldn’t fully suppress whenever Khaotung misunderstood a mechanic or started theorizing about why certain NPC behaviors happened.

But every single time Khaotung would keep talking another few seconds and suddenly First would realize—

No.

Khaotung had understood exactly what the developers intended. Sometimes better than most players ever would. Which was frankly irritating.

The cursor blinked silently in the Twitch chat box at the bottom of the screen.

First stared at it for a moment too long before closing the chat entirely.

Absolutely not.

-Thailand May 2025-

Normally Khaotung’s notifications moved far too fast for him to pay attention to individual accounts. Especially on Twitter.

Years of streaming had built him a strange little ecosystem online, familiar usernames appearing beneath almost every post, artists making edits before streams were even over, longtime viewers who had somehow grown alongside him over the years. Sometimes it still startled him a little to realize he had an actual fandom at all.

At first it had felt uncomfortable. Too visible. Too personal. But eventually he’d found ways to make it feel smaller. Safer.

Mostly through his private account.

The account itself had no connection to him publicly, no photos, no indication it belonged to GlitterShot at all. To everyone else he was just another fan account floating through the fandom space posting about indie games, stream clips and chaotic late night thoughts.

Khaotung liked it that way. It let him exist inside the fandom instead of constantly being observed by it.

He followed fan artists. Liked edits. Replied to dumb jokes. Scrolled through reactions after streams while pretending to be just another person losing their mind alongside everyone else.

Which was exactly why he’d started noticing the account. At first it had only stood out because of how often it appeared beneath his main posts. Not replying. Not quote tweeting. Just quietly liking almost everything. Especially anything related to Eclipsed.

Normally Khaotung would never notice something like that with half a million followers spread across platforms, but the account itself was oddly empty. Barely any followers. Following maybe fifty accounts total.

Mostly cat accounts, the official Eclipsed page, and him.

The username was simple.

whispurr

Khaotung had clicked on the profile a week ago out of pure curiosity and somehow left even more intrigued than before. No selfies. No personal posts. Just occasional reposts about indie games, blurry rain photos and an alarming amount of stray cat content.

For some reason it kept pulling his attention. Eventually curiosity won. So from his private account, buried safely beneath another username and profile picture entirely unrelated to GlitterShot, Khaotung followed whispurr.

The follow back never came.

Honestly that didn’t surprise him much considering the account barely interacted with anyone at all, but ever since then Khaotung found himself checking occasionally to see if the quiet little account had posted anything new.

Tonight though his attention was elsewhere.

“Okay chat,” Khaotung announced brightly as he adjusted the camera toward the kitchen counter. “Tonight we’re baking and being judgmental.”

The stream exploded instantly. Khaotung grinned automatically, glitter catching beneath his eyes beneath the warm kitchen lighting while he tied an apron around his waist dramatically.

“Sparkle away,” he chirped before laughing at himself. “That sounded way more threatening than I meant it to.”

The stream settled quickly into comfortable chaos after that.

Music played softly from his speakers while Khaotung mixed ingredients together between discussions about upcoming indie releases and demos he’d played recently. Flour dusted his oversized black sweater almost immediately.

“So far this year has been insane for indie horror specifically,” he rambled while whisking batter. “Like genuinely gorgeous concepts are coming out lately.”

Chat spammed game titles rapidly beside him. Khaotung nodded along enthusiastically before his expression twisted suddenly.

“Except Hollow Vale.”

Chat exploded with laughter.

“Oh no,” Khaotung groaned dramatically. “Don’t even start. I wanted to love it so bad.”

He leaned against the counter with exaggerated despair.

“The scenery? Beautiful. Soundtrack? Amazing. Creature design? Incredible.” He pointed accusingly toward the camera with the whisk. “But why does the main character move like he’s never experienced a single human emotion in his entire life?”

More laughter flooded chat.

“I’m serious!” Khaotung insisted while dumping chocolate chips aggressively into a bowl. “You cannot make me emotionally attached to someone who reacts to finding a dead body with the same energy as ordering coffee.”

Chat flew too fast to fully read.

But Khaotung’s eyes caught on one specific message.

@whispurr: subtle character animation ≠ lack of emotion

Khaotung blinked once.

Oh.

Before he could stop himself a smile tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” he said carefully, eyes flicking back toward the username again, “that depends.”

The chat immediately noticed the shift in tone.

Khaotung leaned lightly against the counter, whisk dangling loosely from his fingers.

“Subtle animation can absolutely work,” he admitted. “If the restraint feels intentional? If the character feels emotionally disconnected on purpose?” He gestured vaguely toward the screen. “But there still has to be movement somewhere. Tiny things count too.”

His eyes flicked back toward the username again. Something warm curls unexpectedly in Khaotung’s chest.

“So if your protagonist is emotionally repressed,” he continued thoughtfully, “you still show it somehow. Hesitation. Changes in breathing. Eye tracking. Hand tension.” He shrugged lightly. “Little things matter.”

A beat passed. Then another message appeared.

@whispurr: fair point

Khaotung stared at it for a second too long before chat instantly began losing its mind.

“Okay wait,” Khaotung laughed suddenly, covering his face. “Why does this feel like I just won an argument in class?”

-England May 2025-

Days had passed and honestly, First had started to believe he was in the clear.

AJ hadn’t mentioned it. Neither had JJ. Even Gun had stayed suspiciously quiet.

No screenshots in the group chat. No dramatic interrogations. No “ooooh First has a crush on the streamer” accusations.

Nothing. And after not seeing many clips from the stream afterward, First had cautiously allowed himself to relax.

Which apparently had been a mistake.

His apartment door slammed open hard enough to rattle the walls. First jerked awake immediately with a sharp inhale before groaning into his pillow the second he heard familiar voices echo through the apartment.

Right.

Giving Off a spare key years ago had unfortunately resulted in Gun getting access to it.

Which somehow meant JJ and Neo had access too.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty!” Gun yelled from the hallway.

First pulled a pillow over his head. Absolutely not.

He had fallen asleep barely three hours ago after spending nearly the entire night adjusting lantern coding in Eclipsed. Technically nobody had asked him to do it besides himself, but once he got the idea into his head he hadn’t been able to let it go.

The lanterns now flickered in rhythm with the cat’s footsteps whenever it sprinted toward another cat NPC.

Subtle. Completely unnecessary. Perfect. And now he was being punished for it.

Footsteps stormed down the hallway.

Then his bedroom door flew open too.

“FIRST!”

“Go away.”

“No.”

Gun marched directly into the room with all the energy of a man personally fueled by chaos, Neo following behind him carrying coffee while looking significantly less thrilled to be awake.

First squinted blearily at them from beneath his blankets.

“You broke into my apartment at”—he grabbed his phone blindly from the nightstand—“nine in the morning?”

“It’s basically noon for developers,” Neo said calmly.

Gun ignored both of them entirely.

“You’ve been watching GlitterShot.”

First froze. Very briefly but enough.

Gun pointed at him immediately. “HA.”

“I watch lots of streamers.”

“You commented in chat.”

Silence.

Neo slowly handed Gun a coffee like he was assisting during an exorcism.

First sat up reluctantly, hair a mess and hoodie twisted awkwardly from sleep. “How do you even know that?”

Gun stared at him like he’d asked the stupidest question imaginable.

“Khaotung literally clipped it.”

First blinked once.

“What.”

Gun immediately opened Twitter on his phone and shoved it toward him.

A clip filled the screen instantly.

Khaotung stood in his kitchen laughing while flour dusted the front of his sweater, chat flying beside him. “Okay wait,” Khaotung was saying through laughter, “why does this feel like I just won an argument in class?”

Then the clip zoomed dramatically toward the chat message.

“Oh my god,” First whispered.

Neo snorted quietly behind Gun.

“Oh my god,” First repeated, sounding genuinely horrified this time.

Gun collapsed dramatically onto the end of the bed. “You have NO idea how insane this is from my perspective.”

“It was one message.”

“One message?” Gun repeated incredulously.

“Ok. Two.”

Neo raised an eyebrow. “You quoted one of his reviews during lunch yesterday.”

First went still.

Gun’s mouth dropped open slowly. “HE WHAT?”

“I didn’t quote him.”

“You literally said,” Neo began calmly, “‘games feel warmer when you can tell somebody cared making them.’”

Gun let out the loudest gasp First had ever heard in his life. First considered throwing himself out the apartment window.

“That was a normal sentence.”

“That was a GlitterShot sentence,” Gun corrected immediately.

Neo took a thoughtful sip of coffee. “Honestly the real issue is that you used your cat account.”

First buried his face in his hands instantly.

“Whispurr?” Gun cried. “WHISPURR? First that is the least anonymous username I’ve ever heard.”

“No one knows it’s me.”

Gun and Neo exchanged a look.

Then simultaneously:

“AJ knows.”

First stared at the ceiling in complete silence for a long moment.

Then very calmly, “I’m changing my locks.”

-Thailand June 2025-

At this point Khaotung knew it was unhealthy. Not in a serious life ruining way. Just in a deeply embarrassing one.

Because somehow over the last month he had developed the habit of scanning every stream chat for one specific username before he even fully settled into stream.

whispurr.

And every single time the account appeared—

Every single time Khaotung answered. Without fail.

At first it had been harmless enough. Quiet little comments buried between thousands of messages, usually about games or animation design or environmental storytelling. Smart observations. Small corrections that somehow never came across condescending.

Then it became routine. Khaotung would stream. Whispurr would appear eventually. Khaotung would respond automatically. Like clockwork.

Which apparently other people had started noticing too.

Not publicly thankfully. His main fandom space moved far too quickly for something so small to gain traction there, but his private account existed in a completely different ecosystem. Smaller. More observant. Full of mutuals who noticed patterns and built theories out of absolutely nothing.

Unfortunately there were now about five of them quietly building theories. Khaotung had seen the tweets two nights ago while curled up in bed scrolling his priv timeline.

“not to sound insane but glittershot definitely waits for that one chatter 😭”

“whispurr says one thing and suddenly khao’s reading comprehension stat goes to 100”

“it’s giving two stray cats sniffing each other cautiously”

Khaotung had immediately locked his phone and stared at the ceiling afterward in complete silence.

Because the worst part?

They weren’t wrong.

He’d thought about inserting himself into the conversation from his priv account, joking his way into the chaos like he normally did, but this felt different somehow. Too personal. Even if nobody knew the account belonged to him, he still had over a thousand followers there now, mutuals and fandom friends he interacted with regularly.

This though, this felt like someone accidentally catching him staring.

So tonight Khaotung decided very firmly that he was going to act normal.

Completely normal.

“Sparkle away,” he chirped toward the camera while adjusting the makeup mirror on his desk. “Tonight we are proving I can talk about things besides indie games.”

Chat immediately spammed liar. Khaotung laughed softly while reaching for concealer.

The stream settled quickly into familiar chaos after that. Makeup talk. Outfit opinions. Chat arguments. Khaotung rambling while glitter slowly accumulated across his desk beneath warm pink lighting.

No games tonight. Which honestly probably meant whispurr wasn’t even paying attention. The thought bothered him more than it should have. Khaotung frowned faintly at himself in the mirror before blending product beneath one eye.

Absolutely not. We are not doing that.

Chat moved quickly beside him.

Then a familiar username appeared.

@whispurr: how did you first find eclipsed?

Khaotung’s hand stopped completely. His chest tightened instantly. Of course it would be him asking that question. The irony almost made him laugh. Chat immediately latched onto it too, messages flooding faster as people repeated the question excitedly.

Khaotung stared at the chat for one second too long. Because he wanted to answer. God, he wanted to answer. Wanted to explain cold England streets and rain soaked sidewalks and the tiny expo tucked between buildings. Wanted to talk about the way that unfinished little game had crawled quietly into his chest and stayed there for years afterward.

Wanted to explain how lonely he’d been back then.

How trapped.

How seeing that tiny orange cat wandering silently through empty streets had made him feel understood in a way he hadn’t expected from anything, let alone a game demo.

But Napat existed inside that story too. And Khaotung had spent months learning how to speak around certain memories instead of through them.

More importantly, he couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep answering every single message from this account like it mattered more than the thousands of others moving through chat.

Because apparently people were noticing now. So instead Khaotung deliberately looked away from the message and picked up a makeup brush.

“Oh my god my eyeliner is gonna ruin my life tonight,” he complained dramatically instead.

Chat groaned immediately at the avoidance. Khaotung laughed softly like he hadn’t noticed the disappointment. But for the rest of the stream his eyes kept flicking unconsciously toward chat waiting for another message that never came.

-England July 2025-

First had gotten used to the small bits of banter between him and Khaotung during streams.

Tiny replies. Quick responses to comments. The occasional back and forth about games or mechanics or storytelling choices. Nothing serious. Except over the last couple weeks it had slowly started happening less and less.

First still commented sometimes. Still tried despite himself. But his messages got buried more now.

Skipped over. Ignored. And apparently that bothered him enough to become deeply pathetic about it. Because why the fuck was he sitting there at one in the morning feeling disappointed that a streamer hadn’t answered his chat message?

Who was he to expect Khaotung’s attention?

They weren’t friends. Didn’t know each other. Khaotung was practically a celebrity at this point with the amount of people obsessed with him online. And yet somehow First still found himself opening streams hoping for those few seconds of interaction anyway.

Humiliating honestly. Unfortunately Gun had noticed, which meant the teasing had become unbearable.

“Your boyfriend’s streaming,” Gun would announce casually the second Khaotung went live.

Or.

“Oh wow, look who magically appeared the moment GlitterShot started talking about Eclipsed again.”

It had gotten bad enough that First didn’t even realize he was pulling up streams around the others anymore. Khaotung’s Twitch channel had ended up bookmarked onto his home screen after the first time First commented in chat and now opening it had become almost automatic during late nights at the studio.

Gun noticed every single time. And god forbid Khaotung made a point about Eclipsed that actually stuck with First afterward. Because somehow that kept happening too.

Khaotung would mention some tiny emotional detail or reaction to a mechanic and suddenly First would spend six more hours reworking lighting or animation pacing because now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Like the lanterns. Or the rooftop scene. Or the NPC breathing patterns during safe interactions. Every adjustment pushed development back further. Which was exactly why the team had finally decided enough was enough.

The first part of Eclipsed was finished. Or finished enough according to literally everyone besides First.

At first they’d all hated the idea of releasing the game in parts instead of waiting until the full story was complete, but then First had accidentally convinced everyone during a meeting three weeks ago.

Mostly by turning a financial projection into a forty minute lecture.

“If we release it episodically,” First had explained while flipping through slides on the projector, “player retention stays higher long term. Community engagement builds naturally between releases. More people theorize. More replay value. More emotional attachment.”

JJ had looked halfway asleep. AJ had been drawing cats in his notebook.

But Neo, Neo had sat up slowly halfway through the presentation like a man being spoken to directly by god.

First had noticed instantly and doubled down.

“The longer the world exists,” First continued, laser pointer moving rapidly across graphs, “the more attached players become to it. If we build it correctly this can last for years. Constant expansions. Story additions. Environmental changes. Seasonal interactions.”

Gun blinked at him slowly from across the table.

“You want the game to feel alive,” First finished quietly. “Like it keeps existing even when players leave it for a while.”

Neo had leaned back in his chair afterward and simply gone, “Oh we’re absolutely doing that.”

Once Neo locked in, the rest of the team folded almost immediately. Now the release date for Part One sat officially scheduled three weeks away and First still felt deeply unsettled about it.

There were too many things left to adjust. Too many tiny details. Too many moments that still didn’t feel perfect yet. Everyone else disagreed.

Violently.

“First,” JJ had groaned earlier that afternoon while slumped across the office couch, “if you tweak one more lighting effect I’m deleting your coding software.”

“It’s not balanced properly.”

“It’s a fucking puddle reflection.”

“The emotional tone matters.”

Gun had immediately pointed at him from across the room. “See this is why your boyfriend likes the game.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Gun stuck his tongue out instantly. “The sooner we release it the sooner you can listen to your future husband analyze it for six straight hours.”

The worst part, the absolute worst part, was the warmth that bloomed stupidly inside First’s chest at the thought. The idea of Khaotung playing the full release. Talking about it. Noticing things. That stupid soft look he got sometimes during emotional scenes.

Before First could stop himself a small smile had pulled briefly at his mouth.

The entire office had gone silent instantly.

Then exploded.

JJ yelling. Gun nearly falling out of his chair. AJ looking personally betrayed. Neo taking a picture.

First had walked out without a word.

Which was how he ended up here now. Alone in his apartment at nearly midnight scrolling through Twitter while rain tapped softly against the windows.

The official Eclipsed account had posted the release announcement an hour ago.

“Part One.
Three weeks.”

The response was already overwhelming.

Fanart. Reaction threads. People screaming in all caps. Clips from demo streams resurfacing everywhere.

And buried somewhere between the flood of reposts and screaming reaction tweets— A username appeared on his timeline.

softsaturdays.

First’s thumb paused. The private account had followed him weeks ago seemingly out of nowhere. No explanation. No interaction beyond the occasional like on cat photos or Eclipsed posts.

The account itself was strange too.

Small compared to GlitterShot’s massive public presence, but still clearly active inside fandom spaces. Mostly chaotic tweets about games, blurry selfies cropped beyond recognition, late night thoughts typed entirely in lowercase and replies to fandom mutuals that somehow felt oddly warm even through a screen.

First had clicked through it exactly once. Then several more times after that against his better judgment. And now somehow the account kept ending up on his timeline.

Tonight softsaturdays had quoted the Eclipsed release announcement with:

“i genuinely think this game is going to change people a little”

Something familiar pulled inside First’s chest. Then, despite himself, he clicked. First stared at the post longer than he probably should have. It wasn’t even dramatic by GlitterShot fandom standards honestly. Half the people in Khaotung’s community talked like that about indie games.

Still, something about the tweet settled strangely beneath First’s ribs.

Because that had always been the point.

Not fame. Not massive success. Not awards.

Just…Making something that stayed with people.

Rain tapped softly against the apartment windows while the glow from his monitor reflected dimly across the dark living room. Somewhere in the kitchen his tea had gone cold again.

First’s thumb hovered over the screen. He should go to sleep. Instead he clicked into the replies beneath the repost.

Most were normal fandom chaos.

“I’M GOING TO SOB”

“khao got me emotionally attached to this cat before release day 😭”

“this game already feels nostalgic somehow”

A tiny smile tugged briefly at the corner of First’s mouth before disappearing again.

Then, before he could stop himself, he hit reply.

@whispurr: that’s a lot of pressure to put on a cat

The second he sent it regret hit instantly. What the fuck was he doing?

First locked his phone and tossed it onto the couch beside him like it had personally offended him.

Absolutely not. No more weird little interactions with fandom accounts at one in the morning. No more lurking. No more replying. He scrubbed a tired hand over his face before standing from the couch, intending to finally force himself toward bed.

His phone buzzed almost immediately.

First froze mid step. No. Another buzz followed. Then another. Slowly, cautiously, he reached back toward the couch and picked the phone up again.

softsaturdays replied to you

First stared at the notification longer than necessary before clicking it open.

@softsaturdays: maybe but i think the cat can handle it

A second reply appeared beneath it moments later.

@softsaturdays: besides i trust the people making it

Something uncomfortable twisted warmly through First’s chest. Which was ridiculous. Objectively ridiculous. This was just some random fandom account. Somebody who happened to also like Eclipsed. Nothing more.

And yet somehow the replies still felt strangely sincere.

First read it twice. Then a third time. Before he could stop himself he clicked onto the profile again. The same familiar mess of reposts and late night thoughts filled the screen.

Photos of coffee. Tweets about games. Complaints about sleeping schedules. One blurry picture of rain against apartment windows.

A normal person. Just… a person. For some reason that grounded him more than anything else had lately.

Not GlitterShot. Not the streamer with hundreds of thousands of followers and clipped reactions constantly flooding his timeline. Just this smaller account tucked quietly into fandom spaces.

First exhaled slowly through his nose before typing another reply almost without thinking.

@whispurr: hopefully they don’t disappoint you then

His finger hovered briefly over send.

Then pressed it anyway.

-Thailand June 2025-

Oh Khaotung was absolutely living now.

Because yes, he was excited about the release of Eclipsed in three weeks, painfully excited honestly, but more importantly— whispurr had replied to him.

Not a follow back. Not a DM. But a reply. Which still meant something. Which meant he was in. Khaotung had spent the last two days trying to act normal about it and failing spectacularly.

Because now every time he opened Twitter his eyes drifted automatically toward whispurr’s account looking for new posts. Which maybe bordered on insane behavior.

Whatever.

The important thing was that whispurr had continued the conversation. And no, they obviously didn’t know they were talking to him specifically, but Khaotung still found himself smiling stupidly every time he reread the replies.

Especially:

“hopefully they don’t disappoint you then”

God. There was something about the way whispurr talked online that fascinated him. Reserved. Careful. But thoughtful in a way that made Khaotung’s curiosity itch constantly.

The person clearly knew game development too. Not in the fake overly analytical internet way, but genuinely. The kinds of details they noticed during streams always felt intentional.

Which made Khaotung want more. More opinions. More thoughts. More interaction. He missed the little back and forths during streams more than he wanted to admit too.

At first ignoring whispurr in chat had felt smart. Necessary even.

Now though?

Now it mostly just felt annoying. Especially because the theory posts on priv had somehow multiplied instead of disappearing.

Five people had somehow turned into ten. And apparently all of them were now fully invested in what they’d dubbed:

“the whispurr situation”

Khaotung had nearly choked on his drink earlier that afternoon when he saw one oomf tweet:

“glittershot not responding to whispurr anymore only made it MORE suspicious 😭”

Followed by another:

“they used to interact every stream and now khao avoids reading their messages out loud like he’s trying not to look directly at the sun”

Khaotung had immediately thrown his phone face down onto his desk afterward.

Because unfortunately— Again. Not wrong. So now he needed a new strategy. Which apparently meant replying to whispurr whenever possible on priv instead.

Normal behavior. Completely sane behavior.

That was why the second he saw whispurr post a blurry picture of rain outside apartment windows with the caption:

cities feel lonelier at 2am

Khaotung replied.

@softsaturdays: counterpoint: cities feel more honest at 2am

The reply got liked less than thirty seconds later. Khaotung stared at the notification like it had personally confessed its love to him.

“Oh my god,” he whispered to himself.

This was ridiculous. Actually ridiculous.

He was twenty-two years old acting like he had a crush on a mysterious cat account because the owner understood environmental storytelling and occasionally posted rainy window pictures.

Which— Okay maybe when he phrased it like that it made perfect sense actually.

Khaotung clicked back onto the profile again before he could stop himself.

No new tweets.

Still no follow back.

That made him even more curious. Because whispurr felt so carefully hidden all the time. Even their account felt quiet somehow. Deliberate. Khaotung wanted to know what kind of person sat behind a screen at two in the morning talking about loneliness in games like they understood it personally.

Worse— A truly dangerous thought had started forming now too. Because if he could just get the account to follow him back… Then maybe eventually… Maybe if he acted casual enough… He could DM first.

Khaotung immediately buried his face into his hands.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned aloud.

What the fuck was wrong with him.

· · ·

On his next stream a couple days later Khaotung decided very firmly that he was going to act normal again. Which apparently meant undoing the other version of “normal” where he aggressively ignored one specific chatter while secretly checking if they were still there every five minutes.

God, he was exhausted.

“Okay,” he announced to stream while settling into his chair with a blanket draped dramatically around his shoulders, “tonight we are cozy.”

Chat immediately started making fun of him. Khaotung ignored them professionally.

The soft soundtrack of a little unpacking game filled the room while warm fairy lights glowed behind him, his room washed in gold and pink lighting that made the glitter on his eyes shimmer whenever he turned his head.

“No horror tonight,” he continued while clicking through the opening menu. “I emotionally cannot handle it.”

Chat called him weak and Khaotung gasped dramatically.

“I survived three different haunted hallway demos this week actually.”

He adjusted slightly in his chair, laughing softly while chat flew beside him. But underneath the easy rhythm of stream his attention kept drifting unconsciously toward the usernames moving too quickly along the side of the screen.

Looking. Waiting. Hoping, honestly.

Khaotung clicked absentmindedly through the first level of the unpacking game while continuing to ramble about literally nothing, favorite comfort foods, weird game mechanics, someone in chat’s terrible opinion on soup.

Still no whispurr. The tiny disappointment that settled in his chest annoyed him.

Maybe they were busy. Maybe they weren’t interested in cozy streams. Maybe they’d stopped watching entirely after Khaotung started ignoring them.

That thought bothered him more than it should have.

Then—

@whispurr: this game’s soundtrack sounds like rainy train stations

Khaotung’s eyes snapped immediately toward the message. Warmth bloomed so quickly through his chest it almost hurt.

“There you are,” he said before he could stop himself.

Silence.

Then chat exploded instantly.

Khaotung froze. “Oh my god,” he whispered, horrified at himself.

The chat moved so fast it blurred together.

“THERE YOU ARE?????”

“KHAO??? 😭”

“HE NOTICED THE CAT ACCOUNT IMMEDIATELY”

“bro was WAITING”

Khaotung covered his face with both hands while laughing helplessly.

“No no no,” he groaned through his fingers. “That sounded weird.”

It absolutely had. And somehow that only made it worse. His eyes flicked instinctively back toward chat again searching for one specific username through the chaos.

@whispurr: sorry?

Khaotung laughed again immediately, softer this time.

“No, don’t apologize,” he said quickly. “I just meant—”

He stopped.Because what exactly had he meant?

I noticed you were missing? I was hoping you’d show up? I missed talking to you?

Absolutely not.

Khaotung grabbed desperately for the first excuse his brain offered.

“You always have good game opinions,” he finished instead, trying and failing to sound casual.

The chat somehow screamed harder. Khaotung could physically feel himself getting warmer.

“Moving on,” Khaotung announced immediately while dragging a lamp violently across the unpacking game screen. “None of you know how to behave.”

Chat absolutely refused to let it go.

The messages flew so quickly beside him they blurred together into one long scream.

“THERE YOU ARE?????”

“KHAOTUNG WHAT WAS THAT”

“HE SAID IT LIKE A HUSBAND WAITING AT THE WINDOW”

“YOU ALWAYS HAVE GOOD GAME OPINIONS????????”

“OH MY GOD HE WAS LOOKING FOR HIM”

Khaotung could physically feel the heat climbing into his face now.

“No!” he protested instantly, sitting upright in his chair. “No no no, that’s not what happened!”

Chat spammed liar so aggressively it became unreadable.Khaotung stared at the monitor in betrayal.

“You guys are literally making things up now.”

“THEN EXPLAIN YOURSELF”

“I just noticed the username!” he defended weakly.

The chat got worse.

“IMMEDIATELY.”

“OUT OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE.”

“HE DIDNT EVEN READ THE MESSAGE FIRST”

“KHAO PLEASE STAND UP”

Khaotung buried his face into his blanket with a horrified noise.

“Oh my goddddd,” he groaned dramatically into the fabric. “I hate all of you.”

He could still see chat moving through the tiny gap between his arms and the blanket.

Unfortunately that meant he also saw another message appear.

@whispurr: chat’s being dramatic

Khaotung’s stomach flipped stupidly. Which honestly felt medically concerning at this point. He lowered the blanket slowly, trying very hard to regain some amount of composure while his face still felt dangerously warm.

“Thank you,” he said quickly, pointing toward the screen. “See? Whispurr understands me.”

“BROOOOO”

“THATS WORSE”

“HE’S DEFENDING YOU 😭”

“THEYVE BEEN FLIRTING THROUGH ENVIRONMENTAL STORYTELLING”

Khaotung let out a genuinely scandalized gasp.

“We have NOT been flirting!”

The unpacking game music continued softly in the background while Khaotung sat there visibly unraveling in real time.

Then his eyes caught another message.

@whispurr: i was talking about the soundtrack?

Khaotung froze for half a second. Then laughed so suddenly he nearly dropped his controller.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed, covering his face again.

Chat was completely beyond saving now.

“HE MADE HIM LAUGH”

“KHAO’S GIGGLE WAS DIFFERENT”

“THIS IS LIKE WATCHING SOMEONE FALL IN LOVE IN REAL TIME”

“SOMEONE CHECK ON OOMFS THEYRE GONNA EXPLODE”

Khaotung’s eyes widened instantly at that last message.

“Oh absolutely not.”

His tone came out way too fast. Way too panicked.

The chat noticed immediately.

“OH?????”

“WAIT”

“WHY DID HE SAY THAT LIKE THAT”

Khaotung pointed accusingly at the screen. “You guys are creating narratives that do not exist.”

He tried desperately to move on afterward, genuinely he did. But every couple minutes his eyes still drifted automatically back toward chat searching for one specific username anyway.

-England July 2025-

First thanked whatever higher power existed daily that the team was currently too busy preparing for the launch of Eclipsed to properly torment him about Khaotung.

Because after that stream? He genuinely might not have survived it. First had never flushed so aggressively in his life and honestly the memory still made him vaguely nauseous.

Not because Khaotung had noticed him. That part— had felt dangerously good.

It was everything else surrounding it that unsettled him. The warmth in his chest. The stupid smile he couldn’t stop afterward. The way his entire body had reacted to being noticed like it actually mattered. It had bothered him enough that he’d spent nearly an entire therapy session trying to explain it.

Or rather trying not to explain it while his psychiatrist sat across from him looking deeply unsurprised by literally everything he said.

“I don’t have feelings for him.”

She had hummed softly while writing something down.

“He’s a streamer.”

Another hum.

“I don’t even know him.”

That time she’d actually smiled slightly. First remained fully convinced she found the entire situation hilarious but was professionally restraining herself.

Unfortunately the sessions only got worse from there. Weeks had passed and somehow Khaotung still kept becoming the center of conversation. Or more specifically, First’s apparently “budding emotional attachment” to him.

Which First continued firmly denying despite all evidence to the contrary.

Now First barely had time to think at all.

The launch of Eclipsed sat only two days away and the studio had dissolved into absolute chaos. Meetings. Last minute bug fixes. Marketing calls. Conference scheduling. Launch party arrangements.

First already felt exhausted down to his bones. Which was exactly why nobody questioned it much when he requested launch day off.

Off had only blinked at him once across the office before shrugging.

“You hate crowds anyway.”

True.

Gun had complained dramatically about abandoning them at the launch conference but even he hadn’t pushed very hard afterward.

Which was good.

Because First absolutely was not going to explain the real reason he’d blocked out the entire evening in his calendar.

GLITTERSHOT STREAM — 7PM

Khaotung had announced an all night launch stream three days ago, promising to play as much of Eclipsed as physically possible in one sitting. First had stared at the announcement for almost ten full minutes afterward. Then quietly rearranged his entire schedule around it.

Humiliating behavior honestly. And somehow the situation with softsaturdays had only made everything worse.

First still hadn’t mentioned the account to anyone.

Not the team. Not his therapist. No one. Parts of it felt strange in ways he couldn’t fully explain. Because while yes— Fine.

His attention lingered on Khaotung too long now. On the crinkle of his eyes when he laughed. The pretty curve of his smile. The stupid mole near his collarbone that appeared constantly whenever his sweaters slipped too wide during streams.

First chose not to unpack any of that.

The private account though—

That felt different somehow. Quieter. Safer. There was a strange comfort in talking to someone who didn’t know him as a developer or coworker or anything important at all. Just another person online who liked rainy games and late night thoughts and cats.

A strange little kinship had formed before First fully realized it. Which was probably why he’d eventually followed softsaturdays back. It had felt harmless at the time. Normal even.

Then less than ten minutes later a message appeared in his inbox.

First had stared at the notification in complete disbelief.

softsaturdays:
okay important question

Another message immediately followed.

softsaturdays:
are you gonna watch glittershot’s launch stream for eclipsed or are you pretending to be normal about this

First had genuinely considered throwing his phone across the room. Instead he stared at the messages for nearly three straight hours while internally losing his mind.

Because obviously he was going to watch the stream. That part wasn’t the issue.

The issue was that now another actual human being knew he was going to spend launch night sitting alone in his apartment watching GlitterShot play through the game he’d spent years building instead of attending his own company’s launch event like a normal person.

Humiliating.

Worse— The account somehow felt too real now. Before this, softsaturdays had just existed in the vague abstract way internet mutuals sometimes did. Little replies. Shared interests. Occasional interactions.

Now they were sitting in his inbox asking him questions directly. Which apparently made First incapable of functioning.

By the time he finally replied it was almost midnight.

whispurr:
yes

A pause.

Then because apparently he enjoyed suffering:

whispurr:
are you

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

softsaturdays:
obviously 😭

For some reason that made warmth bloom immediately through First’s chest again. Sharp and annoying. The conversation should have ended there honestly. Instead First made the catastrophic mistake of continuing it.

Mostly because he was tired. Overworked. Running on coffee and nerves and weeks of hearing Khaotung’s voice in his apartment late at night. Also because some small reckless part of him had started genuinely liking talking to this account.

Which was probably dangerous.

Several more hours passed before First finally sent another message while half distracted fixing launch bugs at three in the morning.

whispurr:
we could watch together i guess

The second he sent it he regretted it instantly.

What did that even mean? Watch together how? They lived in entirely different places probably. It’s not like he meant calling or anything insane like that. He just meant—

Commenting occasionally maybe. Talking during the stream. Experiencing the launch together in some vague online sense.

Normal.

Totally normal.

Then silence.

Complete silence.

First stared at the screen for so long his phone dimmed.

Maybe that sounded weird. Too forward. Too personal. Maybe he’d completely misunderstood the dynamic of whatever this even was.

Then finally.

softsaturdays:
….sure

First frowned. What the fuck did that response mean.

Not “sure!”

Not “that sounds fun”

Just “…sure”

The longer First stared at it the stranger it felt somehow.

Tentative. Careful. Almost nervous.

Which made absolutely no sense.

He didn’t know this person. This wasn’t serious. They were just internet mutuals talking about a game launch. And yet suddenly First found himself rereading the message trying to decipher tone like his life depended on it.

His psychiatrist would probably have a field day with this.

First dropped his head slowly against the desk with a groan.

Because apparently now he was overanalyzing punctuation from a random private Twitter account at three in the morning.

Fantastic.

-Thailand July 2025-

Khaotung was freaking out. Genuinely.

Because why the fuck had he answered “….sure”

Like that. Was he stupid?

He had stared at the conversation for nearly an hour afterward in complete horror because now what? What exactly had they agreed to? Watching together how?

Khaotung couldn’t exactly sit there actively messaging someone while streaming to hundreds of thousands of people during the launch of the game he’d been waiting literal years for.

Well. Maybe he could sneak a message or two between scenes. But still.

The point was he was supposed to be focused on stream, not sitting there thinking about one mysterious cat account and how they were both silently watching the same thing together in real time. Which unfortunately had become impossible not to think about.

Now it was launch day. And instead of being fully focused on Eclipsed finally releasing after years of waiting, Khaotung was sitting cross legged in front of his makeup mirror feeling like he might actually throw up.

His stomach had been in knots since he woke up. Which was honestly ridiculous. Because somewhere between rainy Twitter posts, Twitch chats and weird little late night conversations Khaotung had apparently developed a full blown crush on someone he had never even seen before.

Insane behavior. Actually insane. And maybe the worst part was realizing it genuinely didn’t matter to him what whispurr looked like.

At all.

Khaotung had spent most of his life comfortably assuming he was gay.

Which— Okay. Maybe he still was.

Probably.

But every time he tried imagining whispurr as a woman his brain just kind of went, okay?

Like somehow that wasn’t the important part anymore. The important part was the way they spoke. The way they thought. The quietness of them. The gentleness buried underneath all that restraint.

Khaotung groaned loudly and dropped his face into his hands.

“Oh my god,” he muttered into his palms. “I’m crushing on a cat account.”

His room stayed silent around him. Warm fairy lights glowed softly against the walls while the launch countdown for Eclipsed ticked steadily closer on his second monitor.

Usually by now he’d be vibrating with excitement over the game itself. Instead his brain kept spiraling violently in every possible direction.

What if whispurr was way older than him? Okay maybe older wouldn’t matter necessarily but like— There were limits. What if they were married? Oh god what if they already had someone. What if they never wanted to meet in real life? What if Khaotung cared way more than they did? What if this was all just casual fandom interaction to them while Khaotung sat here internally composing poetry about rainy windows and environmental storytelling.

A truly horrible thought hit him next.

What if whispurr had a crush on GlitterShot?

Khaotung physically froze. Because obviously they did. Or at least probably. They watched every stream. Talked about him constantly. Wanted to watch the launch together specifically because of GlitterShot.

Now Khaotung suddenly felt weirdly jealous of himself which felt like a mental illness honestly.

“Nope,” he whispered immediately to himself. “Absolutely not doing this today.”

Because he genuinely did not have time for an identity crisis right now.

The launch stream started in twelve minutes.

Twelve.

He still needed to fix his eyeliner. Set up overlays. Double check audio. Drink water. Pretend to be normal.

Khaotung took one long steadying breath before forcing himself upright again.

Then his phone buzzed beside him. His heart nearly stopped.

Before he could stop himself he grabbed it.

whispurr:
good luck to glittershot tonight

Khaotung stared at the message for a full five seconds.

Then another appeared.

whispurr:
i think this launch is going to mean a lot to him

Something inside Khaotung softened immediately. Because whispurr always talked about him like he was a real person. Not just content. Not just a streamer.

A person.

Warmth bloomed painfully through Khaotung’s chest. Suddenly none of the panic felt quite as overwhelming anymore.

· · ·

The launch countdown hit zero.

Within seconds Khaotung’s stream exploded. Alerts filled the screen so quickly they became unreadable, subscriptions, donations, screaming messages flooding chat while the starting music for Eclipsed echoed softly through his room.

Khaotung laughed helplessly.

“Oh my god— okay wait, wait,” he said while trying to fix the audio levels. “Everyone calm down, I can’t even read anything yet!”

Nobody calmed down. If anything the chat moved faster.

Khaotung sat back in his chair finally, glitter dusted on eyes and an oversized cream sweater slipping slightly off one shoulder while warm lighting softened the room around him.

His heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his throat. Not just because of whispurr. Okay maybe partially because of whispurr.

But mostly because this game—

God.

This game had lived in the back of his mind for years now.

The opening screen finally appeared on stream.

Soft piano drifted through the speakers while rain fell steadily across the title screen, the tiny orange cat sitting beneath a flickering streetlamp as distant city lights glowed softly in the background.

Khaotung visibly stopped breathing for a second.

“Oh,” he whispered.

The chat somehow slowed too. Not completely. But enough. Enough that people were actually looking at the screen instead of screaming.

Khaotung leaned forward slightly in his chair.

“They kept the rain,” he murmured almost absently.

· · ·

Somewhere across countries in his apartment, First froze.

His cursor hovered uselessly over the Twitch chat while the stream glowed across his monitor in the dark.

He hadn’t expected this part to hit so hard. Watching someone experience it live. Watching Khaotung experience it live.

The opening menu music drifted softly through his apartment while Khaotung sat there visibly emotional already and they hadn’t even started gameplay yet.

Gun was never letting him live this down if he found out.

· · ·

Khaotung smiled faintly at the screen before finally glancing back toward chat.

“Okay,” he said softly, voice still carrying traces of disbelief. “I genuinely think I might cry tonight so we’re all mentally preparing for that together.”

Chat immediately spammed:

WE KNOW

Khaotung laughed. Then his eyes flicked instinctively toward another monitor for half a second. Toward Twitter DMs. Warmth curled low in his stomach instantly. He looked back toward stream quickly before anyone noticed the distraction.

“Alright,” he breathed, fingers tightening slightly around the controller. “Sparkle away.”

Then he clicked start. The game opened slowly. Rain first. Then sound. Soft footsteps echoing somewhere distant while the screen faded into a dim apartment washed in blue-grey morning light. Dust drifted lazily through weak sunlight near boarded windows while the little orange cat slept curled beside a dying radiator.

Khaotung immediately covered his mouth.

“No,” he whispered softly. “No, this is already evil.”

Chat flew by beside him.

“THE LIGHTING????”

“OH THIS IS GORGEOUS”

“KHAO’S GONNA SOB BEFORE GAMEPLAY STARTS”

Khaotung barely seemed to notice any of it. His attention stayed completely fixed on the screen while the cat slowly lifted its head, stretching carefully before limping slightly across the apartment floor.

· · ·

First’s chest tightened instantly. Tiny detail. Barely noticeable.

The limp disappeared after a few steps once the cat fully woke up. Most people wouldn’t even register it consciously.

Khaotung did immediately.

“The paw injury is still there,” he said quietly.

First stopped breathing for half a second.

Khaotung leaned closer toward the screen instinctively.

“It’s less obvious now though,” he murmured. “Oh that’s smart.”

Something warm fluttered through First’s chest.

The game continued. The cat moved slowly through the apartment while environmental details unfolded naturally around it. Dirty dishes left soaking in a sink. A blanket folded carefully over a couch. Plants dead near windowsills.

The apartment didn’t feel abandoned. It felt interrupted.

Khaotung noticed that too.

“Oh,” he whispered again, softer this time. “Someone thought they were coming back.”

First physically leaned back in his chair like the words hit him.

His Twitch chat sat open untouched beside the stream, messages flying endlessly upward while his cursor blinked uselessly in the empty text box.

He couldn’t type. Could barely think honestly.

Because this— This was exactly what he’d wanted someone to understand. Not the plot. Not mechanics.

This feeling.

Across the screen Khaotung wandered slowly through the apartment instead of rushing objective markers like most streamers had during testing. He paused at photographs. Zoomed in on environmental details. Opened drawers just to read tiny notes left scattered through the world.

Like he was trying to know the people who used to live there.

The stream stayed unusually quiet too. Even chat seemed calmer tonight somehow.

Then the cat reached the rooftop scene.

Khaotung froze, so did First.

Rain poured softly across rooftop concrete while distant city lights flickered weakly through fog. A second cat sat curled beneath an awning near a lantern glowing warm gold against the dark.

The orange cat hesitated.Then slowly approached.

The lantern flickered gently in rhythm with the cat’s footsteps as it moved closer.

Faster. Faster. Gold light reflecting softly across puddles.

Khaotung visibly inhaled sharply.

“No way… The lantern,” he whispered.

First’s stomach twisted violently. Because no one knew about that detail except the team. Nobody.

Gun had laughed at him for six straight minutes when he insisted on manually coding the lantern timing himself.

Khaotung stared silently at the screen while the cats finally curled beside each other beneath the awning. And then— Weak sunlight broke carefully through the clouds overhead. Exactly like the demo, but better.

Khaotung’s eyes looked visibly glassy already.

“Oh this is…” He laughed shakily, rubbing quickly beneath one eye. “Okay.”

Chat was losing their minds now.

“HES CRYING”

“NOT EVEN AN HOUR IN”

“THE SUNLIGHT IM GONNA THROW UP”

But Khaotung barely acknowledged any of it. Instead he stared at the screen quietly for several long seconds before speaking again.

“It seems like the game rewards connection,” he said softly. “Not progress.”

First closed his eyes. Because yes. Yes. That was exactly it.

His phone buzzed suddenly beside him. First startled slightly before glancing down.

A new message from softsaturdays waited on screen.

softsaturdays:
the lanterns speeding up with the footsteps just ruined my life a little

First stared at the message for a long moment. Then slowly, helplessly— He smiled.

First read the message three times before replying. Which honestly felt restrained considering the way his chest hurt suddenly.

whispurr:
that detail almost got cut

The typing bubble appeared instantly.

softsaturdays:
WHAT??? HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT???

First snorted quietly before he could stop himself.

Rain continued tapping softly against his apartment windows while Khaotung’s stream glowed across the dark room, the rooftop scene still paused on screen while chat collectively lost their minds over the sunlight breaking through the clouds.

Another message appeared.

softsaturdays:
genuinely i think i would’ve mourned it

Something warm twisted sharply through First again. It kept happening tonight. Over and over. This horrible aching warmth every time someone understood the game the way he’d hoped they would. Or maybe every time Khaotung understood it.

That distinction felt dangerous.

Across the stream Khaotung finally unpaused the game, rubbing beneath one eye quickly before laughing softly at himself.

“Okay,” he breathed. “I’m normal. We’re okay.”

The chat disagreed violently. Khaotung ignored them. The game continued.

Hours passed strangely after that.

Khaotung moved through Eclipsed slowly, carefully, lingering over tiny environmental details while the rest of the internet screamed around him. Sometimes he talked constantly, theorizing aloud while moving through the city. Other times entire minutes passed where he stayed quiet except for soft reactions beneath his breath.

First watched all of it.

Completely still on his couch with untouched tea beside him and his phone warm constantly in his hands from messaging softsaturdays during quieter moments.

Not constantly. Not enough to distract from stream.

Just little comments.Little shared reactions.

softsaturdays:
the subway station feels colder than the apartments somehow

whispurr:
less people stay there long term

A pause.

softsaturdays:
oh

Then later.

whispurr:
the breathing audio changes when the cat trusts someone more

Several minutes passed before the reply finally came.

softsaturdays:
you notice things like a developer

First physically froze. His stomach dropped. Across the stream Khaotung was still talking animatedly about a puzzle mechanic.

First stared at the message in horror. Because yes. Obviously. That was the problem. He noticed too much. Said too much. Kept accidentally speaking like someone involved in the game instead of a normal player.

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

First genuinely considered throwing his phone.

Then finally.

softsaturdays:
not in a bad way btw 😭

softsaturdays:
just… intentional i guess

First exhaled slowly through his nose. His pulse still hadn’t settled properly.

whispurr:
i just pay attention

Another pause.

softsaturdays:
i like talking about the game with you

The message hit harder than it should have.

Embarrassingly harder.

Because suddenly First became painfully aware of the dark quiet apartment around him, the rain outside, Khaotung’s voice drifting softly through his speakers. the fact he hadn’t spoken aloud to another person in almost two days besides work meetings and how this strange little connection through screens and messages and a game he built with his own hands had become important before he fully realized it.

On stream Khaotung suddenly gasped softly.

First looked up immediately.

The cat had entered the greenhouse sequence. Warm lantern light spilled across overgrown plants while rain hammered softly against cracked glass overhead. Tiny glowing moths drifted through the darkness as music swelled gently beneath the scene.

Khaotung went completely silent.

Then quietly,“this place feels loved.”

First’s throat tightened painfully. Because the greenhouse had been his. Entirely his. He built most of it alone during a period where he barely slept more than three hours a night.

Gun designed the flowers. Neo balanced mechanics. Off handled environmental optimization. But the feeling of the greenhouse—

That belonged to First.

On stream Khaotung moved slowly through the space almost reverently.

Finally he whispered “I think whoever made this was trying very hard to stay alive.”

First’s stomach twisted sharply.

His phone buzzed beside him.

softsaturdays:
this place feels loved in a sad way

First stared at the message. Then slowly looked back up toward the stream. Khaotung sat curled beneath warm lighting, eyes fixed on the greenhouse scene while absentmindedly rubbing the sleeve of his sweater between his fingers.

The resemblance between the message and the way Khaotung spoke hit First suddenly. Not identical. But close enough to make something uneasy crawl up his spine.

The wording. The emotional specificity. The way both of them talked about the game like it was a living thing instead of code and mechanics.

First frowned slightly.

No. That was insane. Lots of people in the fandom talked like this now because of Khaotung’s influence. The entire community surrounding Lanterns Below Rainfall had basically become emotionally devastating environmental storytelling discourse twenty four seven.

Still though, something about it felt weirdly familiar.

His eyes drifted slowly back toward the DM again.

softsaturdays:
sorry that sounded dramatic lol

Then on stream at nearly the exact same moment Khaotung laughed quietly and said, “Okay maybe that sounded dramatic but whatever.”

First physically sat up straighter.

A cold rush moved suddenly through his chest.

No. No fucking way.

His brain immediately started trying to rationalize it away.

Coincidence. Common phrasing. He was overthinking things again. But now he couldn’t stop noticing similarities. The pacing of the messages. The lowercase typing. The weirdly soft observations.

Suddenly First became painfully aware that softsaturdays always seemed active only before and afrer Khaotung’s streams. Always.

His pulse started climbing embarrassingly fast.

Because if—

No.

Absolutely not. That would be insane. Still, before he could stop himself, First’s cursor drifted slowly toward Twitch chat.

His fingers hovered uncertainly above the keyboard for several long seconds.

Then typed.

@whispurr: the greenhouse feels warm even though everything inside it is dying

He hit enter before he could stop himself. On stream Khaotung’s eyes flicked automatically toward chat again.

First watched carefully this time. Really carefully. Khaotung read the message silently first. Then visibly paused.

“Oh,” he said softly.

Not dramatic. Not suspicious. Just thoughtful. His attention stayed on the message a second longer before he looked back toward the greenhouse on screen.

“That’s…” Khaotung smiled faintly to himself. “That’s exactly it actually.”

Something uncomfortable shifted in First’s chest. Not confirmation. Nothing close to that. But enough to make the strange little thought linger anyway.

-Thailand August 2025-

Weeks passed after launch day and Khaotung still hadn’t finished Eclipsed. Not because the game was especially long. Because he kept stopping. Lingering in places too long. Replaying scenes. Walking in circles through environments just to sit with them a little more.

Every stream somehow ended with Khaotung emotionally devastated in a new and creative way.

The fandom loved it.

Clips of him crying over environmental details spread constantly across social media. People made compilations of his reactions, edits of specific lines, long threads analyzing the symbolism he pointed out during streams.

Through all of it—

Whispurr stayed constant. Always there. Sometimes in chat. Sometimes in DMs afterward. The more Khaotung talked to them, the stranger things started feeling.

At first it was little things. Tiny comments that lingered oddly in Khaotung’s mind after conversations ended. Like how whispurr somehow knew the lantern sequence had almost been removed from the rooftop scene. Or how they’d casually explained that the subway station felt colder because it had originally been designed as a temporary shelter instead of a long term living space. Or the way they spoke about development choices sometimes.

Not like theories. Like memories.

Khaotung had started noticing it constantly now. Enough that his brain kept circling back to the same impossible thought over and over again.

There’s no way. And yet, every conversation kept making him more suspicious.

So suspicious that eventually curiosity won completely.

It happened late one night after stream while Montow slept curled warm across Khaotung’s lap, the glow from his monitor washing pale light across the room while rain tapped softly against the windows.

The conversation had started normally enough.

Game theories. Character analysis. The newest sequence Khaotung had just played.

Then somehow it shifted again.

softsaturdays:
okay weird question

The typing bubble appeared.

whispurr:
those are usually dangerous coming from you

Khaotung grinned before typing back quickly.

softsaturdays:
how long have you been a fan of glittershot

A pause.

whispurr:
a while now

Khaotung rolled his eyes.

softsaturdays:
that’s not a real answer

Several long seconds passed.

whispurr:
since the eclipsed demo

Khaotung smiled faintly at the screen. That tracked honestly. A huge portion of GlitterShot’s newer audience had found him through the Eclipsed streams over the last few months. The game had practically consumed his content lately.

Still though— Something warm settled in his chest at the thought of whispurr stumbling into the fandom space because of Lanterns Below Rainfall specifically.

Before he could think too hard about it another message appeared.

whispurr:
when did you start watching him

Khaotung physically paused. Right. He had to remember he was pretending to just be another fan right now. Not GlitterShot himself asking suspiciously personal questions at one in the morning.

Khaotung chewed briefly on the inside of his cheek before typing carefully.

softsaturdays:
years ago actually

A beat passed.

softsaturdays:
back when his streams were way smaller

whispurr:
that’s a long time

Khaotung’s chest tightened strangely at the message. Because yeah, it was. Long before half a million followers. Long before launch parties and sponsorships and fandom spaces built around him. Back when his streams were messy and inconsistent and mostly just him rambling about weird indie games to a few thousand people in the middle of the night.

Khaotung stared at the screen for a second too long before replying again.

softsaturdays:
he used to stream horror games in almost complete darkness and scare himself half to death 😭

The typing bubble appeared instantly this time.

whispurr:
i’ve seen clips

Khaotung grinned helplessly.

softsaturdays:
the man screamed because a virtual pigeon flew at him once

whispurr:
reasonable reaction honestly

Khaotung laughed out loud immediately, startling Montow asleep against his lap.

“Sorry baby,” he mumbled automatically while scratching gently behind the cat’s ears.

Then his eyes flicked back toward the messages and warmth curled low in his stomach again. Because somehow talking about himself like this with someone who didn’t know it was him felt bizarrely intimate. Like he was getting to exist beside someone instead of performing for them.

whispurr:
you seem very attached to him

Khaotung physically froze. Montow lifted his head sleepily from Khaotung’s lap at the sudden tension.

Because what kind of question was that?

Not judgmental exactly.

Just…Careful. Curious.

Khaotung stared at the message way too long before finally typing:

softsaturdays:
maybe i am

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Then finally.

whispurr:
he seems easy to care about

Khaotung’s stomach flipped violently.

“Oh my god,” he whispered aloud before dropping his face briefly into Montow’s fur.

This was getting out of control. Dangerously out of control.

Before he could rethink it he typed another message.

softsaturdays:
okay YOUR turn

softsaturdays:
where do you live

A longer pause this time.

whispurr:
england

Khaotung gasped so loudly Montow physically flinched off his lap.

“No fucking way.”

His heart started pounding instantly.

England. The demo. The details. The way whispurr spoke about the game.

Khaotung sat upright slowly. There was absolutely no way. And yet suddenly every weird little thing started clicking together in his head so aggressively it made him dizzy.

Khaotung stared at the screen in complete silence.

Then very carefully.

softsaturdays:
would you ever want to meet up and talk about the game in person

The typing bubble appeared. Then stopped. Then appeared again.

Khaotung could practically feel the hesitation through the screen.

Finally.

whispurr:
maybe

That was it. That was the moment curiosity fully consumed him alive.

Because if whispurr was connected to Eclipsed somehow—

If Khaotung was really talking to one of the people who made the game that had quietly changed his life—

He needed to know. Actually needed to know. Within the hour Khaotung had a plane ticket booked to England.

Impulse control no longer existed apparently.

He stared at the confirmation email afterward with his heart pounding violently while Montow climbed back into his lap.

Then slowly, very slowly, Khaotung opened the official Eclipsed website again and looked up the company headquarters address.

-England August 2025-

First got swept up in the hype of Eclipsed far more than he ever intended to. It stopped feeling like just a launch surprisingly fast.

The game had become something alive now, fandom spaces growing daily, theories spreading faster than the team could even read them, fanart flooding timelines within hours of streams ending. Every day somebody new seemed to discover the world they’d built and drag another dozen people into it with them.

And through all of it First kept talking to softsaturdays.

Constantly. More than was probably healthy honestly.

His days settled into a strange routine now; work, therapy, softsaturdays messages, Khaotung streams, sleep if he remembered to. It unsettled him how natural it had become.

Especially because he’d slowly realized something uncomfortable over the last month.

He barely commented in Khaotung’s Twitch chat anymore. At first he thought it was because the streams had gotten bigger. Chat moved too quickly now. There were too many people.

But during therapy three weeks ago his psychiatrist had tilted her head slightly and asked, “Or are you transferring emotional intimacy somewhere safer?”

First had stared at her in immediate horror. Because unfortunately she might have been right. It was easier talking to softsaturdays. Safer somehow.

Khaotung existed at a distance behind bright lights, cameras and thousands of people watching him constantly.

But softsaturdays?

Softsaturdays felt real, yet somehow that only made things more confusing because the similarities between them kept piling up in ways First couldn’t stop noticing.

The phrasing. The emotional reactions. The timing.

Sometimes softsaturdays would message him about scenes from the stream seconds after Khaotung reacted to them live and First would feel that horrible little twist low in his stomach all over again.

His psychiatrist thought he was projecting. Looking for connections because of the feelings he clearly already had for the streamer.

Which honestly sounded far more logical than the alternative.

Still, the thought lingered anyway.

Now though First was trying very hard not to think about any of that. Rain battered softly against the office windows while darkness settled fully outside, the studio mostly empty except for him and Gun still sitting at their desks.

Part Two of Eclipsed had already consumed the team entirely. New mechanics. Expanded city sections. Additional NPC storylines. And that wasn’t even including First’s constant adjustments after reading player reactions online.

The rooftop sequence needed more environmental transitions.  The train station dialogue pacing felt off now. The greenhouse should change subtly after revisits.

The world kept expanding endlessly in his head.

Gun hummed softly beside him while sketching concept art across his tablet, some soft playlist drifting through the office speakers low enough to barely hear.

First was halfway through debugging weather transitions when his phone buzzed beside his keyboard.

Absentmindedly he reached for it. Then froze.

softsaturdays sent a photo

First clicked it open automatically.

A hand flashed a peace sign toward the camera beside a large airport window streaked with rain. Blurry planes glowed outside beneath grey skies while a familiar sign hung partially visible in the background.

HEATHROW AIRPORT

First stared blankly at the image. His brain stopped functioning entirely.

Another message appeared immediately underneath.

softsaturdays:
so about meeting up to talk about the game in person…

softsaturdays:
when are you free?

First physically stopped breathing.

Beside him Gun kept humming completely oblivious while First stared at the messages in total shock.

England. Softsaturdays was in England. Now. Not hypothetically. Not eventually.

Now.

His pulse started pounding hard enough to hurt. Suddenly this strange little connection that had existed safely behind screens and usernames for months wasn’t abstract anymore.

There was a real person sitting somewhere inside Heathrow Airport waiting for him to answer.

“Oh my god,” First whispered.

Gun sighed but didn’t look up.

“…What did you break?”

“I have to go.”

The words came out rushed and breathless enough that Gun immediately looked up from his tablet in alarm.

First was already standing.

His chair rolled backward harshly across the floor while he grabbed his hoodie from the back of it with shaking hands, heart pounding so violently he could barely think straight.

“What?” Gun blinked at him. “Right now?”

First barely heard him. His phone stayed clutched tightly in his hand while the open DM glowed against the dark office lighting.

softsaturdays was here.

In England. At Heathrow.

A real person.
Not just messages.
Not just late night conversations and typing bubbles and blurry rain photos.

Real.

“I have to go,” First repeated more quietly this time, mostly to himself.

Gun stared at him harder now.

“First.”

First unlocked his phone again almost frantically, fingers moving before his brain fully caught up.

whispurr:
now

The message sent instantly.

For one horrible second nothing happened.

Then the typing bubble appeared.

softsaturdays:
pick me up?

First’s stomach dropped violently. Not in fear. Something worse. Something warm and dizzying and terrifying all at once.

Because suddenly he could picture it too clearly. Someone waiting at arrivals, rain soaked airport windows, softsaturdays looking around for him specifically.

Gun stood slowly from his desk.

“…Why do you look like you’re about to either throw up or confess your love to someone?”

First stared at the message another second too long.

Then very quietly,“I might know someone at Heathrow.”

Gun blinked once. Then twice.

Slowly, his eyes widened.

“No.”

First grabbed his keys off the desk.

“Absolutely not,” Gun said instantly, now fully awake. “You are NOT saying that like that and leaving me here.”

First shoved his phone into his pocket quickly before Gun could see the screen.

“It’s not—”

“IS IT KHAOTUNG?”

“It’s not.”

“Then why do you look like you’re in a romance movie right now?!”

First ignored him completely and headed for the office door instead, pulse still hammering violently in his throat.

Behind him Gun gasped loudly.

“Oh my god wait.” His voice dropped into horrified realization. “It’s the cat account.”

First stopped walking immediately. Silence.

Gun pointed at him like he’d solved a murder.

“IT’S THE CAT ACCOUNT.”

“How—”

“You’re picking up your mysterious internet situationship from the airport?!” Gun shouted.

“It is not a situationship.”

Gun looked genuinely emotional suddenly.

“Oh this is so much worse than I thought.”

First tried his hardest not to react. Saying it aloud made this feel absurdly real all of a sudden. He was leaving work in the middle of the night to pick up someone he’d never met. Objectively insane behavior.

And yet— The thought of softsaturdays sitting alone at Heathrow waiting for him made something tight twist painfully in his chest.

“I’ll finish the lighting adjustments tomorrow,” First muttered quickly instead.

Gun looked at him like he’d lost his mind completely.

“First.”

First paused, his hand slowly curling around the door handle. Gun’s expression softened slightly then, teasing fading just enough around the edges.

“…Be careful, okay?”

Something about that grounded First slightly. Enough to finally breathe again. He nodded once.

Then his phone buzzed softly in his pocket again.

softsaturdays:
unless that’s weird 😭

First closed his eyes briefly.

Then typed back immediately while already heading for the elevator.

whispurr:
Yes, i’ll pick you up

A pause.

whispurr:
send me which terminal you’re at

· · ·

Khaotung was an actual wreck. Not in the cute exaggerated way he normally joked about on stream either. A genuine, heart pounding, palms sweating wreck.

Because what the fuck did whispurr mean yes. What did he mean he was coming to get him?

What did he mean he was driving to Heathrow at one in the morning to pick up someone he technically only knew through Twitter messages and emotionally devastating conversations about a cat game?

Khaotung had spent 20 minutes trying not to think too hard before sending that message and failed miserably.

Now he stood in the airport bathroom staring at himself in the mirror like he’d personally betrayed himself somehow.

He hadn’t even dressed properly.

The outfit had been thrown together half asleep before the flight, flared jeans, a pink tank top and cropped black jacket that suddenly felt way too revealing now that he was actually here. At least he’d fixed his hair before leaving Thailand. It sat soft and styled around his face despite the long flight, which honestly felt like the only thing going for him right now.

He wasn’t even wearing makeup.

Well. Not real makeup. Just leftover concealer and now a frantic layer of lip gloss he’d dug out from the bottom of his bag seven minutes ago while internally screaming.

His phone was lit up in his hand.

whispurr:
ETA 20 minutes

Twenty minutes.

Khaotung has now already wasted almost half of that panicking in the bathroom.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself before attempting a breathing exercise that did absolutely nothing. “You’re normal. This is normal.”

His reflection looked unconvinced.

Eventually he forced himself back out into the terminal, dragging his suitcase behind him until he found a quieter seating area near arrivals. Rain streaked softly across the giant airport windows while tired travelers wandered past in little clusters around him.

Khaotung unlocked his phone again immediately.

softsaturdays:
what car should i look for

The message sent.

Then nothing.

One minute passed.

Then two.

Then three.

Khaotung could physically feel himself getting more anxious with every second of silence.

What if whispurr changed their mind? What if they realized this was weird? What if they saw Khaotung and immediately regretted everything?

Then finally a message appeared.

whispurr:
i’ll park and come inside

Khaotung stared at the message.

His stomach flipped so hard he thought he might actually throw up. An actual person was about to walk through those airport doors and Khaotung was going to finally find out who existed behind months of messages and late night conversations and quiet little thoughts about loneliness and games and rain.

And despite all the excitement buzzing painfully through him, fear crept in too.

Because he had built this up too much in his head. Way too much.

What if whispurr was disappointed by him in person?

What if this connection only worked through screens?

Worse—

What if whispurr really was some random older married person who just happened to really like cats?

Khaotung frowned immediately at the thought.

No. That didn’t feel right.

What married guy dropped everything at one in the morning to pick up a Twitter mutual from the airport?

Still, the thought wouldn’t leave him completely.

His phone buzzed again.

whispurr:
what are you wearing so i know it’s you

Khaotung immediately looked down at himself in betrayal.

softsaturdays:
pink tank top 😭

A pause.

softsaturdays:
black cropped jacket

The typing bubble appeared instantly.

Stopped.

Appeared again.

whispurr:
i’ll find you

Khaotung’s heart stuttered painfully in his chest.

Those three words felt far too intimate for an airport at one in the morning.

· · ·

First rushed through the rain without really thinking.

Halfway across the parking lot he realized dimly that he probably should’ve grabbed the umbrella from the backseat, but by then it was pointless. Rain had already soaked through the shoulders of his hoodie and dampened the dark strands of hair falling into his eyes.

His heartbeat hadn’t settled once the entire drive over. If anything it had only gotten worse. Honestly maybe he should have called his psychiatrist before getting out of the car because what the fuck was he even doing right now?

This wasn’t normal behavior.

Driving across the city at one in the morning to pick up someone he’d met through a secret Twitter account because they bonded with each other in ways First still couldn’t fully explain.

His chest felt tight as he pushed through the airport doors, warm air immediately wrapping around him alongside the sound of distant conversations and rolling suitcases.

First glanced around almost frantically.

People blurred together for a moment.

Travelers. Families. Strangers.

Until suddenly—

His heart stopped. Just completely stopped.

A familiar face sat near the windows beneath the soft glow of the terminal lights, pink tank top visible beneath a black cropped jacket exactly like the messages had said.

Khaotung. Not someone who looked like him. Not maybe.

Khaotung.

First physically halted for half a second, breath catching somewhere painfully high in his chest.

Because he had known. Some part of him had known for weeks now. Tiny details and similarities and instincts he kept trying to rationalize away until they piled too high to ignore.

But the problem was First had never really trusted himself when it came to people. Not fully. Sure, therapy and time and building Eclipsed with the team had healed more of him than he liked admitting aloud, but trust still felt fragile inside him. Instincts even more so.

For years he’d thought everyone around him was unsafe. Temporary. Dangerous somehow.

He’d spent months convinced Off secretly hated him when they first met. Thought Gun was too loud to be genuine. Thought AJ was watching him too carefully. Thought every kindness came with hidden expectations attached.

And every single time, he’d been wrong.

So when his instincts started whispering that softsaturdays sounded like Khaotung, felt like Khaotung, First convinced himself it was projection instead.

Wishful thinking. Because trusting his gut about people had never ended well before.

Except now, now Khaotung sat only a hundred feet away beneath the airport lights, scrolling absently on his phone with his lip gloss catching softly every time he shifted.

Real.

Softsaturdays was Khaotung.

And First genuinely did not know what to do with that information right now.

But he had promised he’d find him.

So slowly, almost cautiously, First forced himself forward again.

Closer.

Closer.

Then finally Khaotung looked up. The reaction was immediate. His mouth parted instantly, what looked like a small gasp even though First couldn’t hear it from this far away.

And god—

His eyes. They practically sparkled beneath the soft terminal lighting as recognition hit him all at once.

First wasn’t sure what his own expression looked like.

Probably nothing. He’d perfected that cold unreadable face years ago without even meaning to, built it carefully enough that most people stopped trying to read him entirely.

But his eyes— His eyes were probably betraying him badly right now. Because by the time he finally stopped in front of where Khaotung sat, chest still heaving slightly from the run through the rain, there was no hiding the fact that he looked completely stunned.

Rainwater dripped slowly from the sleeves of his hoodie onto the airport floor between them.

For a long moment neither of them spoke.

They just stared.

Months of messages and streams and late night conversations suddenly becoming real all at once.

Then quietly, almost breathlessly, Khaotung said.

“…You’re whispurr?”