The lock clicked on the third try.Mateo Rivas shifted the duffel bag strap digging into his shoulder, juggling his mechanical keyboard in one hand and his phone in the other. His earpiece was already live."—and that's why you never rotate without vision, kids. Never. You think the enemy's playing fair? They're not. They're watching your minimap like it's the last slice of pizza at 3 a.m."A chorus of emotes flooded his periphery display. PogChamp x142. Rage x89. His chat was hungry. Good. He needed them hungry tonight."Alright, chat. Thirty minutes to pre-show. I'm walking into the new setup. Gonna be chef's kiss." He winked at the phone cam clipped to his shirt collar, the one feeding his face to 12,487 concurrent viewers. "Landlord said it's a clean slate. No roommates. No drama. Just me, my rig, and the sweet, sweet sound of my own voice carrying us to victory."He pushed the door open.The apartment wasn't empty.First impression: chaos with intention. A vintage tube amp sat in the corner like a sacred relic. Sheet music cascaded off a piano bench onto hardwood floors stained with what looked like coffee rings and candle wax. The air smelled like sandalwood incense and old paper. And in the center of it all, perched on a stool with her back to him, was a girl.She was barefoot. Wearing what looked like an oversized band t-shirt—The National, faded to a ghost of its original print—and black shorts cut so short they were basically an afterthought. Her dark hair was piled in a messy knot, strands escaping like they couldn't stand to be contained. One hand rested on her knee, fingers tapping a rhythm only she could hear. The other held a half-empty mug.She hadn't turned around. Hadn't even flinched at the door.Mateo froze. His stream was still live."—uh," he said, the word slipping out unscripted. Unprofessional. His producer, Dex, would have a stroke. "So. Plot twist."The chat exploded.??? WHO DISOMG NEW GIRLFRIEND??POV: u walked into the wrong apartment lmaoSHIPPPPPPPPPThe girl finally turned her head. Just enough to show a sliver of profile—sharp cheekbone, a nose ring catching the late afternoon sun slicing through the blinds. Her eyes, dark and unimpressed, flicked toward him and just as quickly away."Not your place," she said. Her voice was low. Husky. Like she'd been singing for hours or hadn't spoken all day. Maybe both.Mateo recovered fast. Years of casting high-stakes matches had trained him for this—adapt or die."Actually," he said, flashing the camera a grin that had sold energy drinks and gaming chairs across three continents, "this is 4B. The only 4B on this floor. Landlord's email said 'move-in ready, no current occupants.' Pretty sure 'no current occupants' doesn't include… whatever this is."He gestured vaguely at the organized chaos around her.She turned fully now. Set the mug down with a soft clink. Her gaze swept over him—the designer joggers, the limited-edition sneakers, the phone cam broadcasting his every micro-expression to thousands—and something in her expression hardened. Not anger. Dismissal."Javier sublet to me six months ago. Month-to-month. Cash." She stood, stretching her arms overhead in a way that made the hem of her shirt ride up, revealing a sliver of taut stomach and the delicate dip of her spine. She didn't seem to care he was watching. Or that he was broadcasting her. "You must be the guy who signed the digital lease with the management company that bought this building last week. They didn't bother telling Javier. Or me."Mateo's smile tightened. He muted his mic for three seconds—Dex, we got a squatter situation—then unmuted. "So we're… what? Roommates?""No," she said flatly. "We're a clerical error."She walked past him toward a hallway, close enough that he caught the scent of her—vanilla, sweat, something green like crushed leaves. She didn't look at the camera once. Didn't perform. It was unnerving."I'm Mateo," he said to her retreating back, the words automatic. Charismatic. "Mateo Rivas? You might've seen me on—""I don't see you anywhere," she called over her shoulder. "And I'm not moving out tonight. Neither are you. So figure out your… thing." She nodded toward his phone cam. "And try not to breathe so loud. I'm working."The bedroom door closed. Not slammed. Just closed. Final.Mateo stood alone in the center of the apartment, the chat still screaming questions, emotes, theories. He forced another grin."Alright, chat. Minor logistical hiccup. Nothing we can't overcome. New arc: Roommate Roulette. Place your bets—how long until I convert her into a fan? Kappa"He got to work. Unpacked his gear with practiced efficiency. Set up his main rig at the desk facing the living room wall. Positioned his ring light. Tested his Blue Yeti. Everything pristine. Professional. A fortress of content against the beautiful, inconvenient mess Selene had built.He never asked her name. She never offered it.Two hours later, the pre-show music faded and Mateo leaned into his mic, voice dropping into the smooth, rhythmic cadence that made him one of the most sought-after casters in North American esports."Welcome back to Rivas Reacts, chat. You're here for the Apex Legends Global Showdown qualifiers, and I'm here to tell you exactly why Team Phantom is about to choke harder than a freshman at their first kegger."He was in his element. Words flowed like reflexes. He called rotations before they happened. Predicted ultimates with eerie accuracy. The chat scrolled faster, numbers climbing—14K, 15K, 16K concurrent. Sponsors would see these metrics. His manager would forward them with a thumbs-up emoji. Life was good.He didn't notice the bedroom door open softly twenty minutes in.He didn't see her pad barefoot into the tiny kitchen alcove, fill her mug with water, lean against the counter with her eyes closed like she was gathering patience.He didn't hear her start to hum.It was low at first. A melody woven beneath the gunfire and character abilities blasting from his speakers. A thread of sound so pure it cut through the digital chaos like a needle through silk.Then she sang.Not a performance. Not for anyone. Just a line, half-whispered, half-sung—a lyric about streetlights and broken promises and the weight of staying when leaving would be easier. Her voice wasn't polished for radio. It was raw. Frayed at the edges. It carried a vulnerability that felt illegal to witness.And Mateo's ambient mic—the one he used for "authenticity," the one that picked up the clack of his keyboard and the sigh when he was tired—was wide open.For seventeen seconds, the broadcast became something else entirely.The slick commentary of a rising esports star layered over the haunting, unvarnished voice of a girl who didn't know she was being heard. The contrast was jarring. Hypnotic. Real in a way nothing on his channel had been in months.The chat noticed immediately.??? IS THAT SINGINGOMG HER VOICEWHAT IS HAPPENING RNCLIP IT CLIP IT CLIP ITSHIP NAME: STREAMQUEENMateo's eyes snapped to his secondary monitor. His blood went cold.He fumbled for the mute button. Missed it. Swore under his breath—fuck—loud enough for the mic to catch.The girl—Selene, though he still didn't know her name—finally opened her eyes. Saw him staring. Saw the phone cam. Saw the horror dawning on his face.She didn't panic. Didn't cover her mouth or gasp. She just went very still. Then her expression shifted into something colder than dismissal. Betrayal.She walked toward him. Slow. Deliberate. Stopped just outside the ring light's glow, where the camera could still catch the sharp line of her jaw, the fire in her eyes."You were live," she said. Quietly. Dangerously."I didn't— the mic— it was an accident—" he stammered, finally hitting mute. The sudden silence in his headphones was deafening."An accident." She repeated the words like they were foreign objects she was testing for poison. "You broadcast my voice to… how many people?"He glanced at the counter. 18,342.Her face shuttered closed. She turned and walked back to her room. This time, the door did click shut with finality.Mateo sat frozen for a full minute. Then he did what any professional would do.He ended the stream."Chat… technical difficulties. We're… we're gonna call it here. Sorry. Love you guys. Stay gold."He clicked End Stream.Silence.He sat in the sudden quiet, heart hammering against his ribs. He pulled up Twitter on his phone with trembling fingers.It took ninety seconds.Then he saw it.A clip. 0:23 seconds long. Title: streamer's mystery roommate just ended his career with one verse.Posted by @ClipKing_.Already at 47K views.And climbing.He refreshed.52K.58K.The comments were a wildfire:who IS shethat voice tho 😭why is she hiding#FindTheSingershe sounds like if Phoebe Bridgers and Mitski had a babymateo rivas new gf??He dropped the phone onto the desk like it had burned him.From behind the closed bedroom door, he heard it again—the soft click of a lock sliding into place. Not just on the door. On something else. Something between them.He stood up. Walked to her door. Raised a hand to knock.Stopped.What would he even say? Sorry I accidentally turned your private moment into content?Sorry my entire existence is built on converting life into engagement?He lowered his hand.Through the thin wood, he heard the faintest sound. Not singing this time. The soft, unmistakable sound of fingers pressing piano keys. A single note. Held. Then another. Building something new. Something she would never let him hear again.Mateo leaned his forehead against the doorframe.The clip hit 100K views.And for the first time in three years of streaming, Mateo Rivas had no idea what to say next.
