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Ellie was shouting, practically yelling at her monitor when you got home from a food run.
Her voice echoed from her game room. “Jesse! Fuck, dude, you’ve gotta back me up here—“
You gripped the foil-wrapped burrito and crossed the kitchen, pushing her door open slightly. The purple LEDs that stuck to her ceiling illuminated the room, and her monitor was one of the only real lights hitting her face. Her headset was over her ears, save for her left one, which was propped off to the back of her head in case you got home and needed her.
Her back faced the door, thumbs fumbling with the controls, stream ongoing. Her chat was ballistic; thousands of people tuned in to watch her kick ass on an apocalyptic shooter game.
“Catch,” You knocked on her door, assuming she’d turn around. The burrito was hurled through the air, and it collided with her temple with a wet smack. It miraculously fell into her lap, saved.
“Ah! What the fuck?!” Her attention turned to you, ripping her headset off. There wasn’t heat to her gaze, but a little worry. Her eyes flicked to the screen, double-checking that you were out of frame.
Your roommate for 2 years—and girlfriend—had managed to hide that she had a large streaming platform. She was known for her snarky remarks and dry humor online, racking up millions of followers.
You found it a little funny at first when you started dating. After you moved in together, you noticed more of her spending habits. She would drop a shit ton of money on a new PC or monitor without another thought. She was always paying for dinner, covering your rent without you knowing until you went to your landlord and he told you it was already done.
Then came your Instagram recommended following.
There sat Ellie, with 4.5 million followers across her platforms. Gaming phenomenon and absolute heartthrob with the ladies. Collabs across the board—from big brands to other streamers. Quite frankly, you were shocked.
“What’s this?” You asked her one night, she was half asleep in bed, nuzzled into your chest as you scrolled through socials.
Her eyes opened a wink, and she sobered, once languid breaths now frozen.
Since she debriefed you and apologized for keeping it from you—she said it was for safety, but deep down you think she might have been a little embarrassed—you both agreed that it would be best for you to stay anonymous. You were still in school, working, and her fans (and haters, but she always said they were more fans than the real ones) tended to be a little overbearing.
Her chat went crazy. Laughing about how Ellie just got a burrito decked at her. You were out of frame, luckily. Ellie took a breath.
WHOS THE GIRL I HEAR A GIRL
A WOMAN?!
Ellie what’s ur burrito order
LMFAO she got DECKED.
WAIT IS THAT UR ROOMMATE??
Ellie peeled back the foil with a crinkle, “Could’ve gone a little softer,” She took a bite, letting a chuckle slip.
“Thought you had good reflexes.” You laughed back, shrugging.
She scoffed, but because she faced away from the camera, she mouthed a quick Love you before turning back around.
“Thanks.” She spoke through a full mouth. You shut the door behind you, and could hear a donation come through. A bot read out the message.
BxFirefly_6
Is that a prospective girlfriend?
“Thanks for the fifty.” That was all she said in response. “Let’s get back to it, unless you guys want me to try another game—maybe horror?”
An hour later, you couldn’t help but laugh at Ellie’s screams of terror through the walls. The neighbors beside you were probably a hair away from calling the cops.
You scrolled your phone, and edits of her being decked by a burrito already surfaced in your feed. You sent a particularly funny one to her, and could hear her pause mid-scream at the notification. A laugh tore through her in the room over.
“Fuck! I died!”
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