It's already quite late at night when Bryn is still sitting in front of his gaming PC. The RGB lights from the computer desk cast a faint glow in the mostly dark room. A headset covers his ears. One monitor displays the latest horror game he's playing. The other monitor is filled with chat moving so fast it's almost hard to read. 2,781 viewers are watching.

Bryn squints at the screen.

The character in the game walks slowly through a dark corridor. The chat starts baiting him.

—

—

—

—

Bryn scoffs.

He refocuses on the game. At the same time— The apartment's front door opens. You just got home. Bryn doesn't hear the door because the game sounds and headset cover almost everything. You take off your shoes in the foyer, place them neatly on the rack, then switch to house slippers. After that you walk in. To get to your own room, you do have to pass the front of Bryn's room. His door is open. The camera above the monitor has a wide-angle lens. And without you realizing it, you walk into the frame. You walk casually past Bryn's door while running one hand through your hair. Just a few seconds. Your face is clearly visible. You don't even see the camera. You just keep walking toward your own room. Bryn is still focused on the screen. Until the chat suddenly moves much faster.

—

—

—

—

—

Bryn frowns. He's still staring at the screen.

—

—

—

—

—

—

Bryn finally glances at the chat monitor. His eyes stop. He stares at a few messages. Then glances briefly toward his door. Empty. He looks back at the screen. And then he sees it — the corner of his own frame, a hand in your hair, your face. He cuts the stream before he decides to.

The stream ends there. 2,781 people are left with a black window, and you are already somewhere else. Fabrice is on the phone before Bryn's hands leave the keyboard. The chat does not stop.

A small smile appears at the corner of his lips.

The chat immediately explodes.

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

Bryn chuckles.

His hand returns to the keyboard.

He answers Fabrice, not the chat.

—

Bryn stops. Just for a split second. But Fabrice catches that small expression. He rubs his chin.

The chat instantly goes even crazier.

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

Bryn exhales.

He leans back in his chair.

—

Bryn glances at the dead camera.

—

He laughs softly.

The chat fills up with comments again. Then one message appears.

—

Bryn's smile slowly fades. He stares at that message. Silent for a few seconds. Then shakes his head slightly.

He goes back to playing the game. But this time his concentration isn't fully on the screen. Half an hour later he takes off his headset and rests it on the desk. The room suddenly feels very quiet. He gets up from his chair. As he leaves his room, his eyes catch the light from under your door. Bryn stops. He just remembered one thing. You just got home. And most likely you don't know that your face was just seen by almost three thousand people for eleven seconds, and that he has spent the hour since making sure it stops there. He knocks on your door twice. Knock. Knock.

He leans against the door frame.

Your home was never a place to come back to. Your parents owed the wrong people, and one night you heard it yourself from behind the door: the debt was going to have your name on it, and you were going to pay it off until it was done with you.

That same night you packed one suitcase and left, the night before the signature.

Your savings weren't much, just enough for a few weeks. On an online bulletin board you found one short ad: "Looking for a roommate to share a two-bedroom apartment. Rent split in half. Few rules. Contact Bryn."

Bryn turned out to be Bryn Marsdale, a gaming streamer watched by thousands of people every night. The first room was already a streaming studio, and the second room was empty waiting for a tenant. With your thin savings, that was the only place you could afford.

He holds out the key.

The problem is, Bryn has an ex: Oriane, an actress who's currently in the spotlight. The breakup was public knowledge and her decision, two months ago, and the internet has not caught up: half of them still write her name beside his.

Bryn said he would say it plainly and let the internet catch up on its own. You said you don't want to be a problem. And out there, someone has started looking for you.

In the world the camera shines on and the world you're trying to hide, you both start to realize that sharing one apartment is far more dangerous than sharing the rent.

The clock in the hallway shows almost midnight when the elevator stops on the 19th floor. You drag a suitcase with a stuck wheel while holding back the phone that keeps vibrating in your jacket pocket. The same name over and over: "Dad." You press the side button until the screen goes dark.

The door to apartment 1904 opens before you can knock.

Bryn stands behind it in an oversized black hoodie with headphones hanging around his neck. His black hair is messy, his dark eyes look at you a few seconds longer than necessary, then drop to the suitcase and your wet shoes.

He shifts to give you room.

The apartment is warm and a little messy. The open kitchen is right past the door, then the living room with a gray sofa and a large window reflecting the city lights. On the right side there's one door with a small red light above it, off. On the left side, across the living room, there's a second door slightly open.

He points at that door with his chin.

Then he points at the door with the red light.

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.

He pauses for a moment and scratches the back of his neck.

Your phone vibrates again in your pocket. Bryn glances toward the sound, but doesn't comment.

He leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed.

His voice drops, calm and direct.