Corvessa

It was 3:11 AM, and Theo had been seconds from falling asleep when he heard it:

“THEO LOOK WHAT I CAN DO!”

He didn’t even lift his head at first. He just sighed into his pillow. Oh god. She was awake. And wired.

You burst into the bedroom like a raccoon who found Red Bull.

“I THINK I FIGURED OUT HOW TO MOONWALK. WATCH.”

Theo finally cracked an eye open.

“You’re barefoot,” he murmured. “And the floors are slippery. This ends badly.”

But you were already doing it — some chaotic blend of moonwalk, shuffle, and interpretive chaos. You spun. You clapped. You slid across the floor like gravity was optional.

Then you started singing. Loudly. Off-key. About something that sounded like pasta.

Theo stared. “What did you eat?”

“I had a brownie,” you said proudly. Then another. “Then another brownie.” Then holding up a finger like you had discovered fire: “Also I think I licked the frosting bowl? Maybe twice?”

Theo sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

You ignored him and leapt onto the bed like a hyperactive cat, landing on your knees and bouncing.

“Theo, THEO, THEO—look, look, look!”

He blinked. “…You’re vibrating.”

“I KNOW, ISN’T IT AMAZING?” you shouted, shaking your hands like you had electricity in your veins.

You started dancing again — on the mattress this time — nearly kicking him in the face.

“Hey—careful—” “Sorry!” Bounce. “BABE SERIOUSLY—” “I CAN’T STOP!”

You jumped once more.

A little too high.

A little too sideways.

Right off the bed.

THUMP.

Followed by the softest, most betrayed: “…ow.”

Theo peered over the edge of the mattress at you crumpled on the carpet like a fallen superhero.

“You okay?”

“Maybe.”

A beat.

“…Theo?”

“Yeah?”

“I think the sugar died.”

Theo sighed — long, suffering, amused. “Yeah. I noticed.”

You rolled onto your back, arms out, staring at the ceiling like your soul was leaving your body. “I am… so sleepy.”

“Shocking,” he muttered.

Theo got out of bed, scooped you up off the floor with zero resistance from your limp, exhausted body, and carried you back under the blankets.

You curled into him immediately, the sugar rush gone, replaced by warm, heavy drowsiness.

He brushed your hair back from your face. “You done?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled into his chest.

“No more brownies after midnight?”

“Mm-mm.”

“You promise?”

“No.”

Theo huffed a laugh, pulling you tighter against him. “Figures.”

You nuzzled into his neck, voice barely above a whisper now. “Sorry I was… a tornado.”

He kissed your forehead. “You’re my tornado.”

You smiled sleepily at that, fingers curling into his shirt as you finally melted into him, warm and soft and calm at last.

And within a minute, you were out cold.

Theo lay awake just a second longer, smiling against your hair.

“You’re unbelievable,” he whispered. But he sounded a little bit in love when he said it.

Your stream intro had never looked this dramatic.

The “Starting Soon” screen slid away, revealing you in full Ada Wong red dress glam — fake thigh holster, perfect winged eyeliner, and a smirk sharp enough to kill a Ganado on sight.

And right beside you?

Theo. Dressed as Leon S. Kennedy. Hair parted exactly like him, tactical vest buckled way too tightly, and the most serious wannabe-cop expression you’d ever seen.

Chat exploded immediately.

CHAT: NO WAY THEY’RE COSPLAYING CHAT: LEON X ADA REAL IN THIS HOUSE CHAT: THEO LOOKS TOO GOOD HELP

You lifted your prop grappling gun toward the camera. “Relax, chat. I’m only here to save one rookie today.”

Theo pointed at himself in mock offense. “Rookie? Ada, please. I’ve handled, like… two zombie apocalypses. Minimum.”

“You still need me to carry you,” you shot back, crossing your legs dramatically.

CHAT: ADA DRAGGING HIM ALREADY LET’S GOOO CHAT: THE CHEMISTRY IS INSANE TODAY

Theo leaned closer to your mic. “Should I be concerned you’re enjoying being Ada way too much?”

You smirked, lowering your voice. “Depends. Should I be concerned how seriously you’re taking being Leon?”

Theo straightened his vest, deepened his voice, and said, “Ma’am… I’m just here to protect you.”

You lost it laughing.

CHAT: LEON VOICE????????? CHAT: HES SO INTO IT I CANT breathe

“Alright,” you said, cracking your knuckles and grabbing your controller. “Resident Evil 4. Ada route. Leon—try not to get kidnapped while I’m working.”

Theo placed one hand dramatically over his chest. “I would never embarrass myself in front of you— or the good people of chat.”

He immediately tripped over your headphone cord.

“LEON!” you yelled.

CHAT: LMFAOOOOO CHAT: HE’S METHOD ACTING CHAT: THEO KENNEDY CANNON

Theo raised a finger like he had a point to make. “Okay. That one was canonically accurate.”

You shook your head, holding back laughter as the opening cutscene rolled. “Chat, if he gets too annoying, I’ll just leave him for the zombies.”

The fake gasp Theo let out was pure theater. “Ada. My love. My partner in bioweapon crime. How could you?”

You tossed your hair and smirked. “Watch the game and find out.”

CHAT: THE FLIRTING?? CHAT: PLEASE DO THIS EVERY STREAM CHAT: POWER COUPLE ENERGY

The decision had been brewing for months. You’d danced around it on stream, hinted at it to Theo, even written half a pros-and-cons list that somehow turned into doodles of bread loaves and cats.

And then one quiet Monday morning, you did it. You quit.

No big announcement, no cinematic music. Just you, an email, and a deep breath that felt like finally exhaling after holding it for years.

You were officially a full-time streamer.

The first week was bliss. You streamed when you wanted, played whatever game called your name, answered emails from sponsors in your pajamas, and ate lunch at 3 p.m. because—why not? Theo cheered you on like you’d just won an Oscar, always hovering nearby to bring you coffee or make cameos in chat.

But by week two… the cabin fever hit. Hard.

You’d gone from office chaos to home silence overnight, and the hours between streams felt long. Too long. So, one morning, on a whim, you pulled out the flour.

“I’m gonna bake,” you told Theo, who looked at you like you’d announced you were starting a cult.

“Bake what?”

You blinked. “Something.”

And that was how it started.

The first loaf of banana bread came out underbaked in the middle, but Theo ate two slices anyway, declaring it “avant-garde.” The next day it was chocolate chip cookies—slightly burnt, still edible. Then muffins. Then brownies. Then focaccia that somehow made you both emotional because, as Theo dramatically declared, “It’s art you can eat.”

By the end of the month, your kitchen looked like a bakery had exploded inside it.

Theo didn’t complain once. In fact, he thrived.

You’d catch him stealing cookies off the cooling rack midstream, or leaning in to whisper into your mic: “She’s baking again. Send help.”

But you knew he loved it. He’d show up after every batch, trying to act casual, pretending he wasn’t waiting for you to hand him something fresh from the oven.

One afternoon, you were kneading dough with flour streaked across your cheek when Theo came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“You’re covered in flour,” he murmured into your neck, voice amused.

You leaned back against him, smiling. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He laughed softly, swiping a finger across your jaw and holding it up triumphantly. “Evidence.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing, but your heart swelled anyway.

Later that night, as you streamed, chat noticed the apron hanging off your chair and immediately flooded the messages:

SHE’S A BAKER NOW?? Theo must be living the dream 😭 engineer → programmer → streamer → baker ??? girl does everything

Theo leaned into frame just long enough to grin and say, “I’m not complaining,” before disappearing again, only to reappear five minutes later holding a muffin.

You groaned, “I just took those out!”

He shrugged, mouth full. “Occupational hazard of dating a genius.”

You turned back to the camera, shaking your head—but your smile gave you away.

The day had been long, the kind that left your shoulders heavy and your patience thin. You fumbled with your keys, already bracing yourself for the familiar comfort of home—sweatpants, maybe a shower, then bed.

Instead, the moment you pushed the door open, you froze.

Right there in the middle of the living room stood Theo, grinning like an idiot, arms braced dramatically around—

A wheel. A massive, glorious wheel of Parmigiano Reggiano.

You blinked once. Then twice. “Theo. What the hell is that?”

“A gift,” he announced proudly, as if the universe had bestowed it upon him personally. “For you. Well… technically for us. But mostly for you.”

You dropped your bag, laughing despite yourself, exhaustion dissolving into sheer disbelief. “You didn’t. You actually didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” he said, patting the cheese wheel like it was a beloved pet. “Thirty-six kilos of pure happiness. Imported. Authentic. Do you feel how lucky you are right now?”

Shaking your head, you pulled your phone out of your pocket, unable to resist. “No one is going to believe me.”

Theo immediately straightened, throwing a mock-model pose beside the cheese. “Good. Document it. Let the world know you live like royalty.”

Grinning, you hit record, flipping the camera toward him and the absurd wheel. “I come home from work, dead tired… and this is what’s waiting for me. A man and his cheese.”

Theo wiggled his brows at the camera. “The man is optional. The cheese is forever.”

You snorted, cutting the recording before your laugh ruined the shot. “Instagram is going to eat this up.”

And with that, you hit post.

You hadn’t even put your phone down before the reality set in.

“Wait,” you said slowly, narrowing your eyes at Theo. “You didn’t… already open it?”

Theo gave you that innocent look that wasn’t innocent at all. “Of course not. You have to respect the wheel.”

You stared at him. Then at the massive block of cheese dominating your living room. “Respect the—Theo, this thing weighs more than me.”

“Thirty-six kilos,” he confirmed proudly. “And tradition dictates it’s split with two people. Romantic, right?”

You let out a laugh that was half horror. “Romantic? That’s not a proposal, that’s manual labor.”

Already, he was dragging out a set of comically oversized knives he’d somehow stashed behind the couch. You raised both hands. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not strong enough for this.”

“Yes, you are,” Theo grinned, thrusting one of the knives into your hand like you were about to duel. “Together, amore. You and me. Against the cheese.”

You looked down at the blade, then back up at him, deadpan. “This is the most Italian nightmare I’ve ever had.”

But of course—ten minutes later, you were both crouched over the wheel like medieval peasants, grunting and laughing as you tried to score and crack the rind. You slipped once, nearly toppling into him, and Theo caught you with one arm while still wrestling the cheese with the other.

“This is insane,” you wheezed between bursts of laughter. “I can’t believe this is my life.”

“Correction,” Theo said, sweat on his forehead but grinning like a madman. “This is our life. And our cheese.”

When the wheel finally split with a satisfying crack, both of you collapsed backward onto the kitchen floor, laughing like lunatics.

Theo wiped his brow dramatically. “Victory,” he declared, pointing at the golden, crumbly interior like it was treasure. “We did it.”

“You did it,” you corrected, still catching your breath. “I mostly screamed and prevented myself from losing a finger.”

He smirked, pushing himself up. “And now… the real reward.”

You blinked at him as he rolled up his sleeves with dangerous intent. “Theo. Don’t tell me—”

“Pasta alla Ruota, amore,” he announced proudly, already heading for the stove.

You groaned, dragging yourself onto a stool. “You’re insane. You actually bought a thirty-six kilo wheel of cheese just to spin pasta in it.”

Theo didn’t even deny it. Within minutes, he had a pot of pasta boiling, butter sizzling in a pan. You watched helplessly as he expertly carved a crater into the heart of the parmigiano, shaving curls of cheese into it until the hollow looked like a glowing bowl.

“Now,” he said, voice low and reverent as if conducting a ritual, “the magic.”

You snorted into your glass of water. “You’re way too into this.”

But when he drained the pasta and swirled it straight into the carved-out wheel, tossing it until steam curled around the molten cheese, even you had to admit—you were impressed. The smell alone was enough to make your stomach growl.

Finally, Theo twirled a forkful with dramatic flair, holding it out to you. “For my incapable chef of a girlfriend, who can burn water but deserves pasta made by the gods.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned forward anyway, letting him feed you. The taste hit instantly—rich, creamy, absolute heaven.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, covering your mouth. “That’s illegal. That shouldn’t even be real.”

Theo grinned, smug as ever, taking a bite for himself. “Worth the wheel?”

You pretended to think, then nudged his knee under the table. “Worth the wheel. But next time I'm not helping you crack it open.”

The next second was chaos. Both of you screaming, laughing, jumping in circles like kids. He grabbed you by the waist and spun you, nearly tripping over the coffee table, but neither of you cared.

“I told you!” you shouted between kisses to his cheek and jaw. “I told you they’d be stupid not to take you!”

Theo was grinning so wide it almost hurt, his voice cracking with pure joy. “This is insane. This is actually happening. My dream role, babe—my dream role!”

You cupped his face, kissing him full on the mouth this time, smiling against him. “No one deserves it more than you.”

He held you close, forehead pressed to yours, still bouncing slightly on his feet like he couldn’t keep the excitement contained. “Couldn’t have done it without you. Not a chance.”

“Liar,” you teased, though your voice was thick with pride.

“Not lying,” he said, kissing you again. And again. And again, until the happy noise of your little world blurred into nothing but laughter and warmth.

Private celebration. Just the two of you. Just right.

Eventually, the shouting and spinning burned itself out, and you both collapsed onto the couch in a heap of tangled limbs. Theo’s chest was still rising fast, his grin glued in place like he couldn’t believe it even now.

You tucked yourself against his side, legs draped over his lap, his arm heavy around your shoulders. He kissed the top of your head absentmindedly, like he couldn’t stop touching you if he tried.

“Feels unreal,” he murmured after a while, voice low and rough from laughing too hard. “Like… me. In that movie. With those people.”

You shifted to look at him, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. “Not unreal. You earned this. All the late nights, all the auditions, all the times you wanted to quit but didn’t—you built this moment.”

Theo’s eyes softened, that rare quiet creeping in when he let himself be vulnerable just with you. “Still feels like I’m gonna wake up and it’ll be gone.”

You squeezed him tighter, resting your chin on his shoulder. “If you wake up, I’ll be right here to remind you it’s real.”

That earned you a kiss—slow, lingering, gratitude spilling through more than words could. He broke away just long enough to laugh again, forehead pressed to yours. “God, I love you.”

“I know,” you teased gently, nuzzling closer. “But say it again anyway.”

“I love you,” he repeated, like a promise.

The night’s stream had started out like any other—controllers clacking, your chat filling up with jokes, and Theo’s muffled laughter somewhere in the background as he pretended not to eavesdrop.

Somewhere between respawns, a comment popped up that caught your eye:

wait wait wait… didn’t you study multimedia?? what’s your official title?? 👀

You grinned instantly, pausing the game like you’d been waiting years for this setup. “Ohhh, you’re asking for the credentials? Don’t mind if I do.”

You sat up straighter, eyes glinting, and held an imaginary diploma like a trophy. “Ladies and gentlemen, chat… I am—Mag. Ing. Art. in Multimedia Production.”

You dragged the words out, dramatic as ever, as if the screen should’ve erupted into applause. Which, honestly, it did—your chat went berserk.

QUEEN WITH THE LETTERS 🔥🔥🔥 MAG WHAT NOW??? okay smarty pants engineer?? artist?? god she does it all

You crossed your arms with mock pride, lips twitching. “That’s right. Engineer. Artist. Basically unstoppable. Honestly, I don’t flex it enough.”

And then, with a mischievous tilt of your head, you added: “But let’s be real—I only said it out loud so my boyfriend can go around saying his girlfriend is an engineer.”

Like it was rehearsed, the door creaked open behind you. Theo strolled in, leaning just far enough into frame for chat to catch the smirk tugging at his mouth.

“My girlfriend’s an engineer,” he declared proudly, his voice warm and smug all at once.

You laughed, trying to shoo him off-screen, but he caught your jaw instead, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then a quick one to your lips before ducking out of reach. Chat exploded.

HE SAID ITTTTT 💀 theo’s biggest flex confirmed kiss cam??? don’t ever let them break up I’m begging

You shook your head at the camera, cheeks pink, muttering, “See? Knew he’d love that.”

From somewhere behind you, Theo called back, “Best thing I’ve ever bragged about.”

And judging by the grin on your face, you didn’t disagree.

You couldn’t stop laughing at chat spamming ENGINEER KISS CAM over and over. Waving them off, you leaned closer to the mic. “Alright, alright, since we’re here and everyone’s suddenly so curious about my brain cells… I’ll explain.”

Theo had settled just out of frame, perched sideways in your chair like he owned it. He didn’t look like he was going anywhere, one arm slung across the back as he watched you with a small, amused smile.

“So,” you began, counting on your fingers. “Step one: four years of Multimedia Production. That’s where I got my Bacc. Ing. Pretty much… cameras, editing, design, sound, all the fun stuff. I thought I was gonna end up doing something super creative—film, production, whatever.”

Chat flew with:

omg that’s actually so cool SHE’S SMART SMART future Spielberg???

Theo chimed in, tilting his head. “So that’s like… why you always yell at me when my photos aren’t centered?”

You laughed, pointing at him. “Exactly. See? He gets it.”

Then you held up another finger. “Step two: I did two more years in Creative Design Management. That’s where I got my Mag. Art. title. Which basically means… I can manage creative projects, teams, branding, marketing. Big-brain, fancy-pants stuff.”

Theo gave a low whistle. “So you’re saying I’m dating both an engineer and a manager? Should I be worried?”

“Very,” you deadpanned, before softening into a smile. “But… somewhere along the way, I fell in love with programming. Like—completely fell. Coding late at night, building things, problem-solving… it just clicked for me. So I kind of… veered off the original track and took a job as a programmer instead.”

Chat reacted immediately:

respect. following what you love 🫡 coding >>>> everything engineer AND gamer gf, theo’s winning fr

Theo leaned forward, chin propped in his hand. “Wait—so if you love programming, why’d you do six years of, like… media and design?”

You shot him a look, laughing. “Because life doesn’t come with a roadmap, Mr. Model. Sometimes you try things, sometimes you switch tracks. And honestly? I don’t regret it. It gave me a base for all the creative stuff I do now.”

He nodded thoughtfully, like one of your chatters pretending to be in a lecture. “Makes sense.” Then, with a little grin: “So when are you quitting to be a full-time streamer?”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands as chat exploded.

SHE SAID IT EARLIER 👀 full time WHEN theo stirring the pot lol

Peeking out between your fingers, you admitted, “I’ve thought about it. Honestly. Quitting the nine-to-five and just… streaming full-time.”

Theo didn’t tease this time. He just hummed, eyes on you. “And?”

“And… I’m not sure yet,” you said honestly, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. “I love programming. It challenges me. But streaming—this—it’s a different kind of fun. I guess I’m waiting to see which one wins out in the long run.”

Theo’s smile softened, and he reached over to squeeze your hand under the desk, like chat couldn’t see. “Well, whatever you pick—you’ll kill it. Obviously.”

The café was the kind of place that seemed to exist out of time. Low chatter, the quiet hum of an espresso machine, the smell of cinnamon and roasted beans lingering in the air. You’d snagged a table by the window, tucked into the corner where the morning light spilled lazily across the wood.

Theo sat across from you, glasses perched low on his nose, long legs stretched out under the table. He wasn’t reading anything profound, not that he cared—just a stack of well-worn comics he’d picked up at a little shop earlier in the week. His lips twitched now and then, amused by some panel, and every so often he’d push a hand through his hair when it fell into his face.

You, on the other hand, had buried yourself in your current obsession—a dog-eared crime novel with tiny print and a plot so twisty it made your head ache. The kind of book you couldn’t put down, even if you wanted to.

For a while, the two of you didn’t talk. Just sipped at your drinks, pages turning in an unhurried rhythm. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was warm, comfortable, the kind that only came when you were with someone who felt like home.

Still, Theo broke it first.

“You’re frowning again,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear. He didn’t even look up from his comic, just smirked at the page. “Doesn’t look good for your detective.”

You blinked, caught, then shot him a glare over the edge of your book. “I’m not frowning. I’m concentrating.”

“Mm,” Theo hummed, clearly unconvinced. He flipped a page, his grin widening. “Concentrating very angrily, apparently.”

Rolling your eyes, you set your book down for a moment, leaning across the table just enough to whisper, “Not all of us can read pretty pictures with word bubbles, Theo.”

He finally glanced up, his expression mock-offended. “Pretty pictures? This is art. Literature. A cultural cornerstone.” He tapped the page dramatically. “You just wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” you shot back, smirking. “You like stories you can finish in twenty minutes without having to think too hard.”

Theo laughed—low and warm, the kind of laugh that made your chest flutter even though you’d never admit it. “And you like stories that give you headaches. Different strokes, amore.”

The banter faded into another round of quiet. His foot brushed yours under the table, deliberate, and when you glanced up, he was already watching you with that little glint in his eyes—the one that said he enjoyed the game, but he also enjoyed you more.

You shook your head and lifted your book again, pretending to ignore the way your cheeks heated. He mirrored you, pretending to focus on his comic.

And so the two of you sat—two mismatched readers in a café, sipping coffee, teasing each other between chapters, both content in the quiet little world you’d made together.

You’d just gotten to the twist in your chapter when someone cleared their throat near your table. Looking up, you found a girl standing there, maybe twenty at most, clutching her phone nervously in both hands.

“Hi, um… sorry to interrupt.” Her voice was quiet, and she looked like she was ready to back out any second. “I just—I didn’t want to bother you guys, but… could I maybe get a picture? With you?”

Your brows lifted in surprise, but you gave her a reassuring smile. “Of course, yeah.”

You pushed your chair back and leaned toward her, already tilting your head for the camera. But before she could take the shot, she hesitated, cheeks pink.

“Actually…” she glanced quickly at Theo, then back at you. “Would it be okay if you were both in it? I just—um—I really like when you stream together. It always feels so fun.”

Theo set his comic down, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Both of us, huh? Guess I’ll allow it.”

That earned him an eye roll from you, but the girl laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing. She angled the phone again, and this time, Theo leaned just close enough that his arm brushed against yours as the three of you smiled for the picture.

“Thank you,” she said, checking the photo quickly before slipping her phone away. Her smile had grown, softer now that she’d worked up the nerve. “I was a little nervous to come over, but I’m really glad I did. I love your streams—they always make my day. And when you’re both on together…” she glanced between the two of you with genuine warmth, “…it just feels like hanging out with friends.”

“That’s the goal,” you said, your voice warm.

Theo nodded in agreement, adding, “She does all the real work. I just crash the party sometimes.”

The girl giggled, clearly more relaxed now. “Well, it’s a good party. Thank you both for being so nice.”

“Anytime,” you told her, and you meant it.

She gave one last wave before heading out, leaving you and Theo back in the cozy rhythm of your little café bubble.

For a moment, you both sat in silence. Then Theo leaned back, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Feels like hanging out with friends, huh? That’s a review I can live with.”

You nudged his leg under the table, trying to hide your smile behind your book. “Don’t get a big head about it.”

You tugged at the hem of your top one last time in the mirror, turning side to side as if the angle might magically change your mind. Jeans that actually fit, a cropped little number that was just enough without being too much, and—shockingly—no hoodie in sight. You hardly recognized yourself.

Behind you, Theo lounged on the edge of the bed, chin in his hand as he watched you fuss. “You know,” he said slowly, “if you stare at yourself any longer, you’re gonna burn a hole through the mirror.”

You shot him a look. “I just want it to look… right.”

His lips quirked into that half-smile, the one that was equal parts smug and annoyingly soft. “It looks right. More than right. You look incredible.”

Your cheeks warmed despite yourself, and you quickly bent down to grab your shoes. “You’re biased.”

“Yeah,” he admitted easily, still watching you. “But I’m also right.”

By the time you had your shoes laced and jacket in hand, your friends were already blowing up your phone with where are you texts. But Theo wasn’t done.

“Hold on,” he said, hopping up from the bed. He plucked your phone out of your hand before you could protest and held it up. “Stand there.”

“What?”

“For your Instagram story,” he explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re not about to waste this fit on blurry bathroom selfies.”

You laughed, but humored him, shifting awkwardly as he adjusted the lighting.

“No, no—angle your shoulder like this. Chin down. Perfect.” He snapped a few photos, then frowned down at your phone. “One more. Hair over this side. Yeah, that’s it. Now spin. Show off the whole thing.”

You groaned but spun, and he actually whistled. “That’s it. That’s the one.”

When you reached for your phone, he pulled it back just out of reach. “Wait. Gotta pick the right song. Don’t you dare post this with something tragic like Taylor Swift. This deserves… hmm…” He scrolled for a moment before holding it up triumphantly. “Levitating. You can thank me later.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching the phone back. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously helpful,” he corrected, grinning. “Now go. Before your friends show up at the door and drag you out by force.”

You were halfway to the door when his voice softened, losing the teasing edge. “Hey.”

You turned.

Theo was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, smile tugging at his mouth. “Have fun tonight. And… you look amazing. Really.”

Something in your chest fluttered, and for a second, you almost forgot you had somewhere to be. But then your phone buzzed again—we’re outside!!—and you forced yourself to grin.

“Don’t wait up,” you said, even though you knew he would.

He smirked. “Oh, I’m definitely waiting up. Can’t wait to see you stumble back in your jeans at 2 a.m., complaining about your feet.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you slipped out the door—but his words stayed with you all the way to the car.

Theo lasted about thirty minutes on his phone before boredom got the better of him. With a sigh, he dragged himself over to your desk and plopped down into your chair, staring at your dual monitor setup like it was a spaceship.

“Alright,” he muttered, cracking his knuckles. “How hard can this be?”

It turned out… not very. At least not when he booted up Minecraft in Creative mode. Twenty minutes later, he was proud architect of what he described out loud as a structurally questionable castle. He spent another ten building a garden of flowers around it. But by the time midnight rolled past, even that lost its charm.

By two a.m., Theo was sprawled on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram and resisting the urge to stalk your tagged photos. He wasn’t worried. He hadn’t once texted you to check in, hadn’t tried to call. You were out with your friends—exactly where you should be. He trusted you.

So he waited.

And when the front door creaked open at nearly five in the morning, he sat up, blinking against the sudden burst of noise.

“Baaaabe!”

You stumbled in, hair a little messy, cheeks flushed, shoes dangling from your hand as you grinned wide at him.

Theo’s mouth twitched. “Well, well, well. Look who finally remembered she has a house.”

You practically launched yourself onto the couch, nearly knocking the phone out of his hands as you showered his face with kisses. “I missed you sooo much.”

He laughed, catching your wrists gently. “You saw me five hours ago.”

“Too long,” you whined, nuzzling into his chest like a cat. “Do you know… do you know how much I love you? I love you. I love you. Like, a million times.”

Theo smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “You’ve mentioned it. About seven times already.”

“Not enough,” you insisted, clinging to him like your life depended on it. Your words slurred, but your sincerity was sharp. “You’re, like… my favorite person in the whole world.”

“Good thing,” he teased softly, “since you’re mine.”

Helping you to your feet was a comedy routine in itself, your knees wobbling and your arms wrapped around him so tightly he could barely move. He guided you to the bedroom, carefully tugging off your jeans and slipping you into your comfiest pajamas.

When you tried to protest with a half-hearted, “I can do it,” he only shook his head. “Not when you’re about to topple over like a newborn deer.”

He sat you down, grabbed your makeup wipes, and began gently removing your mascara smudges and glitter eyeshadow while you rambled about your night—half complaints about the music being too loud, half tangents about how good the fries at 3 a.m. tasted.

By the time you collapsed against the pillows, you were still mumbling. “Theo, my head’s spinning. Everything’s spinning. Even you’re spinning. Stop spinning.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Close your eyes. I’ll make it stop.”

But you didn’t—at least not for another thirty minutes. You talked and talked, your words slowing only when exhaustion finally claimed you.

Theo lay beside you, listening to your soft breathing, shaking his head with a smile.

Theo tilted his head like he was genuinely pondering it. “Still saved my progress, didn’t it?”

“You corrupted the entire file, Theo.”

Chat was already crying with laughter.

-did he just call her a goblin LMFAOO -power button = save IM DECEASED -parents are fighting again 💀

Theo leaned closer, resting his chin on the top of your chair. “Don’t worry, though. You look cute when you’re mad. Like a very small, very angry hamster.”

“Hamster?” you repeated, slowly setting your controller down. “You’re calling me a hamster? On my stream?”

He just grinned wider. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

You raised your fist like you were about to clock him. Chat went wild.

-SHE’S GONNA SWING -MIDDLE FINGER RAISED LET’S GOOOO -i swear they are the definition of love

Theo caught your wrist before you could land the mock punch, laughing as you struggled to shake him off. “Feisty. My hamster bites.”

“You’re insufferable,” you said, yanking free. “Actually insufferable.”

“And yet…” He gestured around the room, smirk still plastered on his stupidly perfect face. “Here I am. Still invited. On your stream. Which, if we’re being honest, is running smoother because of me.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Chat’s having the time of their lives,” he continued, leaning back smugly. “You should really be thanking me. I bring the charm. You just sit here pressing buttons and pretending you’re good at games.”

“Oh my god—” you turned fully in your chair, middle finger up at him again. “I will actually uninstall Mario Kart right now if you don’t shut up.”

Theo only laughed harder. “Coward move. Typical.”

-NOT HER FLIPPING HIM OFF AGAIN LMAOOO -if looks could kill theo would be GONE

You groaned dramatically, muting your mic just long enough to hiss at him, “Do you have to roast me every time you show up here?”

“Yes.” He didn’t even hesitate. Then, softer, with a look the chat definitely noticed: “It’s how I show affection.”

Unmuting, you pointed at him with mock venom. “One day, chat, I’ll actually throw him out midstream.”

[chat] lies and deceit we all see the heart eyes [chat] pls never stop bringing him on this is too good [chat] parents pls stop fighting and kiss already 😭😭😭

You were perched confidently on a tall stool behind a massive PC rig that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie. Neon tubes glowed softly inside the custom case, fans whirred at a low hum, and the monitor displayed an endless wall of scrolling code.

But it wasn’t the machine that caught his attention. It was you—laughing, explaining something rapid-fire to a cluster of curious onlookers, hands moving animatedly as you broke down whatever impossible wizardry you’d built.

Theo stopped mid-stride. Something in his chest tugged.

He didn’t even realize he was staring until someone bumped his shoulder and muttered an apology. Shaking himself, he drifted closer.

Your eyes flicked up when he leaned against the edge of your booth. You scanned him quickly, the way you might size up a bug on your keyboard. Expensive jacket, perfectly tousled hair, cheekbones made for a camera. Yep—Hollywood type.

“Lost?” you asked, arching a brow.

Theo smiled, slow and practiced. “Depends. What am I looking at here?”

“A computer,” you deadpanned. “Congratulations, you figured it out.”

A couple of the onlookers snickered. Theo’s grin only widened. “Not just any computer, though. That’s… custom?”

You narrowed your eyes. Most people either glazed over or tried to flex their own build knowledge. He didn’t sound like either—just… clueless. “Yeah. I built it. Liquid-cooled, overclocked, designed for streaming and game dev. You know, normal human hobbies.”

Theo chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You don’t understand a word I just said, do you?”

“Not a single one.”

That earned him your first real smile—a sharp, amused curve. “Then why are you here? Don’t you have a movie panel or something to run off to?”

“Funny you mention that.” He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice like it was a secret. “I was supposed to. Took a wrong turn. Ended up here instead.”

“Your loss,” you said flatly, turning back to your code.

Instead of leaving, he stayed. “I’m Theo.”

“Good for you.”

He laughed. Actually laughed. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

You glanced at him briefly. “Should I?”

“Well, most people do. I model. Act. You know, films, magazines…”

You blinked once. “Yeah, I don’t watch movies. Waste of time and energy.”

Theo felt something flicker in his chest—something warm and electric. He should’ve been offended. Instead, he was charmed.

“Then maybe,” he said softly, “I should learn your language instead.”

And somehow, despite not understanding half the words you threw at him, he stayed by your booth the entire day. By the time the convention lights dimmed and staff began ushering people out, you were exhausted. Hours of answering the same questions, demoing your setup, and politely telling strangers not to touch your water-cooled rig had drained you.

The last person you expected to still be hanging around was him.

Theo.

He had lingered all day, asking questions that made no sense, tilting his head like a golden retriever whenever you explained your build or coding project. And yet, every time you looked up, he was watching you—not your PC, not the crowd, you.

As you started to break down your booth, detaching cables and coiling them neatly, he moved forward before you could protest.

“Here, let me help.”

You froze, mid-reach. “Touch my rig and I’ll end you.”

He smirked. “You sound serious.”

“I am.”

He raised his hands in surrender, then pointed at the case—your pride and joy, heavy enough that even you hated lugging it. “Okay, maybe not this one. But I can carry something. What’s that—your monitor?”

You gave him a long, skeptical look. “Why do you even care? Don’t you have a car waiting to whisk you off to your movie-star afterparty?”

Theo chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe I’d rather carry your… big-ass computer.”

The way he said it—half teasing, half genuinely wanting to—made you roll your eyes. Still, when it came time to actually haul the beast from your table to the exit, you found yourself sighing and stepping aside. “Fine. Don’t drop it. If you fry the motherboard, you’re buying me a new one.”

His grin was immediate, cocky. “How hard can it be?”

As it turned out—very.

The moment he lifted it, he staggered back two steps, knees bending under the weight. “Bloody hell, what do you keep in here, bricks?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Liquid cooling system, dual GPUs, redundant storage—”

“Translation: heavy as sin,” he groaned, wobbling dangerously as he adjusted his grip. “Alright, alright, I’ve got it. Don’t panic.”

“Don’t panic?” you snapped, trailing behind him as he shuffled toward the parking garage like a penguin. “If you scratch it, I’ll panic. If you drop it, I’ll panic. If you so much as sneeze near it, I’ll—”

“—murder me, got it,” he interrupted, biting back a laugh.

By the time he set it down beside your car with a triumphant grunt, your nerves were shot.

You folded your arms. “Congratulations. You didn’t destroy my livelihood.”

He flashed a smile, sweat beading at his temple. “I expect a medal.”

“You’ll get sarcasm. That’s all you’re getting.”

Instead of being offended, he just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching you wrestle the PC into the trunk. His gaze was infuriatingly soft, like he wasn’t used to people treating him this way. Like he liked it.

Finally, as you slammed the trunk shut, he said, “So… number?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Your number. Phone. Contact. Communication device. Whatever you want to call it.”

You scoffed. “Why would I give you that?”

“Because,” he leaned casually against the car, voice dropping into that infuriating charm again, “you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

You snorted. “Bold assumption.”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t stop smiling. Didn’t stop asking.

“I’ll keep begging,” Theo warned lightly. “I’m very good at it.”

Your head fell back with a groan. He was relentless, infuriating, smug… and somehow? Endearing.

“Fine!” you snapped, grabbing his phone when he held it out. You typed in your number with deliberately aggressive taps, then shoved it back at him. “There. Don’t make me regret this.”

He looked at the screen, grinned like he’d just won a trophy, and said softly, “Too late. You already don’t.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I hate you.”

He just laughed. And to your horror—you realized he wasn’t going anywhere. The next few weeks unfolded like a bizarre glitch in your perfectly predictable schedule.

It started with the texts.

At first, you expected him to be the kind of guy who would send nothing but selfies and shallow lines. Instead, his messages were… ridiculous.

Theo: “If you had to compare coding to cooking, what dish would it be?” You: “Depends. Debugging? Probably peeling garlic. Endless and painful.” Theo: “Then writing new code is like baking bread. Messy but satisfying.” You: “…I hate how much sense that makes.”

Or:

Theo: “My computer froze mid-email. Do I bribe it with wine?” You: “You’re not supposed to drink with your PC, Theo.” Theo: “Tragic. We’d make a good pair at dinner.” You: “…Smooth. Gross. But smooth.”

You didn’t mean to laugh as much as you did. But somehow, you did.

When he asked you out, you almost said no. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him—he was charming, annoyingly so—it was that you didn’t want to be another notch in the belt of a model-actor whose life seemed galaxies away from yours.

But he asked with such uncharacteristic gentleness—“Just coffee. No red carpets, no cameras. Just you and me.”—that you agreed. Against your better judgment.

The coffee shop was tucked into a quiet corner of the city, the kind of place where no one cared who he was. He arrived first, glasses perched on his nose, hair messier than usual, a book half-open in front of him.

You stopped in your tracks. “Don’t tell me you’re actually reading that.”

He looked up, smirk tugging at his mouth. “Trying to impress you. How am I doing?”

“Terrible,” you said flatly, sliding into the seat across from him. “That’s upside down.”

His laugh rang out, warm and genuine. “Caught me.”

And that was the first of many.

One date turned into two. Two into three.

Dinner at a little ramen spot where he splashed broth on his shirt and you teased him mercilessly. An arcade night where he declared himself unbeatable, only to lose six times in a row at Mario Kart. A museum trip where you explained a coding-inspired art installation, and he didn’t understand a single word—but hung on every one anyway.

You, meanwhile, kept your guard up. He was still Theo Nott—the guy whose face was on billboards, who looked too good to be true. But slowly, against your will, the cracks began to show.

Because when he laughed at himself, it wasn’t for show. When he listened to you ramble about debugging for twenty minutes, he wasn’t pretending. And when he leaned across the table one night, grin lazy and soft, and said—“You’re the only person who makes me forget I’m supposed to be impressive”—you couldn’t stop the flicker of warmth that hit you straight in the chest.

For the first time, you realized he wasn’t the glossy magazine version of himself. He was awkward. Dorky. A little weird.

And maybe, just maybe, he was your kind of weird. Almost six months had passed since the day Theo stumbled into your booth at that convention. Six months of texts that made you laugh at odd hours, late-night ramen runs, museum trips, game nights, and arguments about whether pineapple belonged on pizza (it didn’t, you loved making him mad, while he dramatically disagreed).

By now, you knew him—really knew him. Not the billboard, not the magazine spreads. Just Theo. And even though you hadn’t said it out loud, part of you had started to accept what you’d been resisting from the beginning: you liked him. Maybe more than liked him.

That night, he’d suggested something different. “There’s a video game museum opening a new exhibit,” he’d said over the phone, his voice brimming with the kind of excitement he usually reserved for teasing you. “And I happen to know someone who could explain to me what the hell I’m looking at.”

You’d rolled your eyes but agreed.

The museum was tucked into an old building, the kind that smelled faintly of dust and nostalgia. Rows of glass cases lined the walls, filled with consoles, controllers, and cartridges from decades past. Kids dragged their parents toward old arcade machines; adults lingered with a kind of reverence.

But for you? It was magic.

You stopped dead in front of one display, palms pressing against the glass. “Oh my god. No way.”

Theo leaned in, eyebrows raised. “What is it? Looks like… a calculator?”

You gasped so dramatically that a passing couple chuckled. “A calculator? That’s a Game Boy Color. Early 2000s. This—” you pointed reverently “—this was my childhood.”

He tilted his head, smirking. “So you’re saying you grew up on… tiny bricks with buttons.”

“Not just tiny bricks!” you shot back, grinning in spite of yourself. “This was the gateway. Pokémon Red, Blue, Yellow—my whole world fit in that little cartridge. I’d sit under the covers with a flashlight at night because it didn’t even have a backlight, just mashing buttons and pretending I could beat the Elite Four.”

Theo chuckled, watching the way your eyes lit up. You were rambling, waving your hands as if describing something holy, and he swore he’d never seen anyone more alive.

“I swear, Theo, kids today don’t even know the struggle. Dropping it on the sidewalk, praying the screen didn’t crack, swapping AA batteries like your life depended on it… and don’t get me started on the link cable.”

“Link cable?”

“It was how you battled your friends. Actual wires connecting two Game Boys. Primitive, sure, but back then? That was the future.”

He didn’t even try to follow. Not really. He just watched, chest tightening with something he couldn’t quite name. Somewhere between the words link cable and Elite Four, he knew.

Yes. Her. I want her.

Later, over dinner at a quiet little Italian place, you teased him for stealing bites from your plate, and he teased you for nearly knocking over your glass of water while laughing too hard at your own joke. It was easy—too easy.

By the time you were walking through the park, the night cool and quiet around you, Theo’s heart was a drum in his chest. He stopped mid-path, turning to face you.

You blinked. “What?”

He exhaled, hands shoved in his pockets like he needed to ground himself. “I love you.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeated, steadier now. “And I want… us. Officially. Not just dates and banter. You and me. A relationship.”

You froze, the weight of it pressing against your ribs. For months you’d told yourself you weren’t ready, that he wasn’t serious, that he’d get bored. But the look in his eyes wasn’t fleeting. It was raw. Sure.

“Are you—” your voice cracked, and you tried again. “Are you serious?”

He nodded once. No hesitation. “Completely.”

Silence stretched between you, broken only by the rustle of leaves. And then, before you could overthink it, you smiled. Small at first, then wider.

“Yes,” you whispered.

The grin that broke over his face nearly undid you. He stepped closer, hesitant for once, like he was waiting for permission. You gave it—closing the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft, tentative, but charged with every unsaid word from the last six months.

When you pulled away, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours. “Worth the wait.”

And for the first time, you didn’t argue Dating Theo Nott was never going to be “normal.” Not with his face on billboards, his name in headlines, and photographers trailing him through airports. But to your surprise, life with him didn’t feel like a whirlwind. It felt… grounded.

Sure, the first few weeks were a balancing act. He’d vanish to photoshoots or movie sets; you’d disappear into work deadlines and twelve-hour coding sprints. Yet somehow, he always carved out time for you. Sometimes it was as simple as sitting cross-legged on your floor, watching you stream while eating takeout. Sometimes it was cooking—because, to your utter shock, Theo was actually good in the kitchen, whipping up pasta dishes so perfect they made you swear off frozen meals for good.

But the biggest shift came the first night he wandered on-camera during one of your streams.

You hadn’t planned it. You were deep into a late-night coding project, headset on, chat scrolling by, when your apartment door clicked open. Theo, fresh from some event, padded into view, jacket draped over his arm, tie loosened around his neck.

“Hi, amore,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your temple without realizing you were live.

The chat exploded.

CHAT: WHO IS THAT?? CHAT: HELLO TALL DARK AND HANDSOME CHAT: omg is that THE THEO NOTT??? CHAT: bro just kissed her like it’s casual what is HAPPENING

You turned so fast your chair squeaked. “Theo! Stream. Camera. People.”

He blinked at the lens, then at you, a mischievous smile creeping across his face. “Ciao, internet.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “They’re never going to shut up about this.”

And they didn’t.

From then on, Theo was a recurring guest whether you wanted him to be or not. Sometimes he’d sprawl on the couch behind you, tossing in sarcastic commentary about the game you were playing. Sometimes he’d sit beside you, headset crookedly balanced on his head as chat howled at his absolute inability to understand basic game mechanics.

CHAT: he’s terrible at Mario Kart but I love him CHAT: adoptive streamer boyfriend confirmed CHAT: ngl we’re here for theo now sorry

You’d roll your eyes, muttering, “Traitors,” while Theo grinned smugly at the screen.

And slowly, it became routine. “You streaming tonight?” he’d ask while stirring sauce on the stove. “Mind if I crash?” He became part of the furniture, part of the show—part of you.

After a year together, moving in felt inevitable. Your place was already half-filled with his things—his books stacked next to your monitors, his shoes by your door, his sweaters draped over your chair. When he suggested finding somewhere bigger, with a smile that said ours instead of mine, you didn’t hesitate.

By then, chat had already caught on.

CHAT: the way he just walked in with groceries like he owns the place 👀 CHAT: did you guys move in together?? CHAT: streamer gf + model bf sitcom when??

You tried to brush it off, cheeks burning, but Theo just leaned over, kissed the top of your head, and said into the mic, “Don’t worry, chat. I’ll take good care of her.”

The clip went viral overnight.

And maybe you should’ve been embarrassed. But instead, as you glanced at him—this man who somehow fit into your world as effortlessly as you’d slipped into his—you couldn’t help but smile.

You used to think you’d never want someone like him. Too flashy, too famous, too far removed from your quiet life of code and streams. But Theo wasn’t what the world made him out to be. He was the man who listened to your rants about debugging, who teased you until you laughed so hard you cried, who kissed you like you were the only thing in his universe.

And somewhere between the convention booth and the shared apartment, you realized the truth.

"I'm trying!" he muttered, his voice tinged with annoyance. "This game is... complicated."

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "It's not complicated, Theo. You're just... hopeless."

He shot you a glare, but you could see the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Maybe I need a better teacher."

"Maybe you need a better controller," you retorted, snatching the device from his hands. "Here, let me show you how it's done."

You took the lead, guiding both characters through the game's ever-shifting landscapes. One moment, you were navigating a cyberpunk cityscape, dodging hover cars and robotic parking attendants. The next, you were battling trolls in a medieval fantasy realm, your teamwork seamless as you overcame each challenge.

Theo watched in awe, his earlier frustration forgotten. "Alright, alright, I admit it. You're better at this than I am."

You shot him a teasing smile. "Told you so."

As the game progressed, so did your camaraderie. The initial tension gave way to laughter and playful banter. When Theo finally managed to pull off a difficult move, you cheered, genuinely impressed.

"See? I knew you had it in you," you said, nudging him with your shoulder.

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "Thanks for not giving up on me."

The final level approached, and the stakes were higher than ever. The game's narrative had woven a tale of two writers trapped in their own stories, and now, it was up to you both to escape. The screen split, each of you facing your own set of challenges.

"Ready?" you asked, determination in your voice.

"Always," Theo replied, his tone matching yours.

With synchronized precision, you tackled the final obstacles, your actions in perfect harmony. As the last boss fell, the screen merged into a single view, showing both characters standing victorious.

You leaned back, exhaling in relief. "We did it."

Theo turned to you, his expression softening. "We did. And I couldn't have done it without you."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Same here."

As the credits rolled, you set the controllers down, the room filled with a comfortable silence. Theo shifted closer, his presence a comforting weight beside you.

“Thanks for the game,” he said quietly.

You nodded, your heart fluttering slightly. “Anytime.”

A beat passed, and guilt tugged at you. You glanced at him, chewing on your lip. “Hey, uh… sorry for snapping at you earlier. I just—” you huffed, hiding your face in your hands. “You were so bad, Theo. Like… impressively bad.”

He laughed, the kind of laugh that rumbled through his chest and shook your annoyance loose. “I deserved it,” he admitted, wrapping an arm around you and tugging you against him. “But I liked seeing you all fiery. Even if you were yelling at me.”

You groaned but melted into his side, your forehead pressing into his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

“Mm. And yet, you’re still cuddling me.” His voice was smug, but softer now, almost reverent.

You shifted so you were half draped across him, his hoodie bunched under your cheek. “Because you’re warm,” you muttered.

“And because you love me,” he teased, lips brushing the top of your head.

“Debatable,” you mumbled, but the kiss you pressed to his jaw betrayed you.

Theo’s grin widened, and he tightened his hold, thumb brushing soothing circles along your arm. The glow from the TV dimmed, the only sound the quiet hum of the console and your steady breathing as you curled closer.

“Next time,” you murmured sleepily, “I’m picking the game. Something you can’t possibly screw up.”

“Good luck finding one of those,” he said with a smirk, kissing your temple.