29. Haven
29
Haven
C arter’s nervous. Not just a little nervous, not the kind that comes with waiting in a Discord lobby before a match or sending a risky text, but the kind that has his fingers gripping the edge of his desk like it’s the only thing keeping him from bolting.
I can feel it in the way his shoulders are locked, in the slight tension in his jaw as he stares at his monitor, waiting for the countdown to finish before his first-ever live stream officially starts. He’s been on a hundred streams before. Mine, mostly. Dropping in on my chat, playing games with me, talking just enough to make people wonder who he was before he slipped back into the background.
Now, he’s not just a name in my chat or a voice in my ear, he’s about to be on-screen, in front of an audience that only knows him as the guy who’s been following me around online for a year. And he wants to be more than that.
I watch him exhale, his fingers tapping against his keyboard, his leg bouncing slightly where he sits. I reach over, pressing a hand to his knee, feeling the way he stills under my touch. “You’re fine,” squeezing gently. “It’s just like when we game. You don’t even have to talk much, just play and get comfortable.”
He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “Easy for you to say. You’ve been doing this forever.”
I grin. “Yeah, and now you get to join me.”
Before he can respond, the door creaks open, and I already know who it is before I even turn my head. He pauses just behind Carter’s chair, glancing at the monitor before flicking his gaze to his twin, lips curling in a lazy smirk.
“Look at you, little brother, finally stepping into the spotlight.”
Carter lets out a sharp breath through his nose, his grip tightening on the mouse. “Fuck off, Tate.”
Tate just grins, “Nah, this is big. We should celebrate.” He gestures vaguely. “I’ll throw you a channel raid. Get you some followers. Boost your ego a little.”
I perk up at that, shifting slightly in my chair. “I can send some people over too. Get you a solid start.”
Carter glances between us, like he doesn’t quite know how to react to the idea of being pushed into the public eye so quickly. Because that’s exactly what’s happening. He’s not just logging in anymore, not just lurking in my chat, not just ‘Haven’s biggest fan’ like half of my followers know him as.
Tate leans against Carter’s chair, arms folded, head tilted slightly, smirking like he already knows what he’s about to say is going to stir something up. “If you wanna help Carter, you can come in my room,” he offers casually, nodding toward the hallway. “I’ve got a second setup.”
Carter stills, his fingers halting mid-tap against the keyboard, his jaw clenching.
He shoots Tate a look, one that’s half suspicion, half irritation. Tate acting helpful? That’s new. I glance between them, weighing my options.
Carter’s setup is fine, but if we’re both logged in, using two systems will make things easier. And Tate’s not wrong, his PC is probably better suited for this kind of thing. Still… Tate’s room. The place Carter has never invited me into. The place I know nothing about. The place where Tate spends all his time, away from everyone, behind a locked door. I exhale, pushing up from Carter’s bed, catching the slight narrowing of his eyes before I shrug. “Alright,” I murmur. “Lead the way.”
Tate grins like he just won something, pushing off the chair and gesturing for me to follow. Carter doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his stare on my back as I step into the hallway.
The second I step into Tate’s space, I realize just how different they really are. His room, It’s nothing like Carter’s. Carter’s room is neat, cozy, warm. Soft lighting, deep blues and grays, a space that feels like a haven.
Tate’s is dark. The walls are lined with shelves, lined with masks. Not just his usual neon masks, but all kinds, full-face, half-face, some from the operators from our game, some from movies. I scan the collection, my fingers twitching slightly, an uneasy energy creeping up my spine.
Tate watches me, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You like ‘em?”
I exhale, glancing over my shoulder. “Didn’t realize you were a collector.”
He grins. “Didn’t realize you were into the whole thing, but here we are.” I roll my eyes, stepping deeper into the room, toward his second PC setup.
I settle in, adjusting my headset, fingers moving fluidly as I log into my main stream. And the second I’m in, the chat erupts asking so many questions, mainly where I’ve been the last few days.
I exhale, shaking my head as the messages flood in, fast and relentless, my name lighting up in tags from every direction. Of course. Because it doesn’t matter how low-key I thought I was being, my followers notice everything.
I lean forward, hands flying over my keyboard. “Alright, chill,” I say into my mic, my voice cutting through the chaos. “I know I’ve been off-grid, but no, I’m not dead. And no, I’m not giving you details, so you little gossip gremlins can relax.”
A fresh wave of messages floods in.
I roll my eyes. “Listen, you little weirdos, I actually need you to do me a favor. Carter—yes, that Carter is streaming for the first time tonight, so you better go give him the warmest fucking welcome of his life.” I instantly notice a few asking if they’re officially adopting him.
I laugh, shaking my head. “Yes, you’re adopting him, now go be nice.” I glance over, and sure enough, Tate is watching me from his own setup, one arm draped lazily over his desk, amusement flickering in his eyes as he listens to me try to wrangle my chat.
“Interesting approach,” he says as he tilts his head.
I quirk a brow. “What, you expected me to just let them lose their minds?”
“No, I expected you to let them keep talking about you being here with me.” I narrow my eyes, but before I can respond, he moves. With one fluid motion, he reaches for a mask, a ghost face. He slips it on, adjusting it until it fits just right, and then he turns back to his camera, his expression unreadable beneath it. And the second his chat sees, they go ballistic.
Tate taps his mic, exhaling like he’s preparing for war. “Alright, assholes, listen up. My brother is finally growing a pair and streaming for the first time, so if you know what’s good for you, you’re gonna go show him some fucking love.”
His chat loses it again, messages flying at a speed I can barely register.
Tate leans back, satisfied, his gaze flicking to me again as he nods toward the screen. “There. Now it’s official.”
I exhale, shaking my head, glancing at my own chat, which is still spamming theories and inside jokes at a speed that makes my head spin. I wrap up my stream, thanking everyone for showing Carter some love, watching as my chat finally starts to settle, well, as much as they ever do.
Tate’s chat, however? Still fucking unhinged. I lean back in the chair, stretching my arms above my head, before reaching for the headset to log off. “Alright, I’m out. Thanks for the assist, Tate.”
He doesn’t even acknowledge me at first, still focused on his own stream, fingers idly drumming against the desk, eyes locked on the rolling messages that are flooding his chat. “Yeah, yeah, sure,” he mutters, tone almost dismissive.
I roll my eyes, already pushing up from my seat, but the second I move he grabs me. One sharp tug and I’m not standing anymore. I’m in his lap. His hands firm on my waist, his body solid against mine, the heat of him pressing through my clothes like a fucking brand. My breath catches, and for a split second, there’s nothing but silence. And then, chaos. His chat fucking implodes.
My entire body locks up, and I feel Tate’s chest shake slightly beneath me as he exhales a slow, lazy laugh. “Damn,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only I can hear it. “I really do own the internet.”
I have no fucking clue what to do next. His arms stay locked around me, the weight of him pressing me down, his grip firm, like he already knows I’d bolt if given the chance. His chat? Still a fucking dumpster fire.
I feel Tate smirk against my shoulder, completely unfazed, soaking up every second of the chaos he’s just created. Then he leans forward, toward his mic, voice dropping just enough to send the chat into another goddamn meltdown. “If I knew this would break the internet,” he muses lazily, fingers toying with the hem of my hoodie, “I would’ve dragged her into my lap a long time ago.”
I shift slightly, trying to untangle myself from his grip, but Tate only tightens his hold, fingers flexing against my hips like he’s making a goddamn statement.
Then, he exhales sharply, his head tipping slightly to glance toward the door, that knowing smirk never leaving his lips. He knows this moment isn’t going to last much longer. Carter’s down the hall. Carter probably saw the clip already. Carter is definitely about to come looking for me. And so, just like that, Tate moves. With one swift motion, he reaches for his keyboard, clicks a single key, and his screen instantly fades to black. Stream: OFFLINE.
I stare at the monitor, then whip my head back toward him. “You just ended it?”
Tate grins, leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head like he didn’t just obliterate the internet with a single move. “Yep.”
I blink. “Why?”
His eyes gleam with something wicked, something smug, something entirely too self-satisfied. “Because,” he says smoothly, “I don’t need an audience for what happens next.” And before I can even process that, a sound from the hall.