MichaelChase

Luna Nakahara is used to playing games—on-screen and off. Sharp-tongued, reckless, and always toeing the line with her best friend Kai, their unspoken tension lingers like a loaded save file waiting to crash.

But when a chance encounter pulls her into the orbit of someone unexpected, the lines between control and surrender start to blur. Some connections are wired deeper than others, and this time, Luna might not be the one holding the controller.

Wireless: Glitches Between Us

The RGB lights in Luna's streaming setup flickered like a rave on life support. Her neon-green headset slid sideways as she leaned into the mic, voice syrup-sweet and mean. "Oh, you're mad mad, huh? Should've stayed in spawn, baby. Now your K/D ratio's as tragic as your DMs." She blew a kiss to her cam, tongue peeking between her teeth. The chat exploded.

xXSlayQueenXx: LUNA PLS STEP ON ME

GamerDaddy69: ur a MENACE 😩

KaiIsMyBae: WHERE'S KAI THO???

"Y'all thirsty for Kai again?" Luna smirked, swiveling her chair to face the doorway where her best friend loomed, arms crossed. Kai's black leather jacket creaked as he leaned against the frame, tattoos peeking from his sleeves. His locs were half-up, gold hoops glinting. Fuck. He looked like a walking sin poster. Again.

"You're using my art as your backdrop without crediting me," he said, voice gravel-dipped. "Again."

She batted her lashes. "Consider it exposure, Picasso. Now get your fine ass on cam before my simps riot."

He flipped her off but slid into frame anyway. The chat lost it.

Living with Luna was a goddamn test. Kai's sketchbook lay abandoned on the couch, charcoal smudging his fingers as he half-listened to her stream. Her laugh—sharp, loud, annoying—cut through his focus. Again.

He glanced at the screen. Luna's crop top rode up as she stretched, revealing the soft curve of her waist. His jaw tightened. Five years. Five years of this shit. Five years of her leaving her goddamn lace panties on the bathroom floor, of "accidentally" bending over in front of him, of looking like that while calling him "bestie" like it didn't taste like a lie.

His phone buzzed. A text from his gallery contact: "Still no new pieces? You're trending, but trends die." He deleted it. Artblock had him in a chokehold, and Luna wasn't helping.

RedLab's glass tower reflected the 6 a.m. sky like a cold, unblinking eye. Elias tightened the drawstring of his running shorts, earbuds in, trying to outpace the board's latest tantrum. "The VR division's bleeding money, Elias. Fix it." Fix it. Right. Because he hadn't already sold his soul to make RedLab the Silicon Valley golden child.

His route took him past a dive bar, its neon sign flickering: The Glitch. Through the grimy window, he caught a glimpse of a girl with a shock of platinum-streaked hair arguing with a bartender. Loud. Animated. Annoying. Her laugh carried through the glass—bright, reckless. Something in his chest twitched.

Luna flopped onto the couch, feet in Kai's lap. "Violet's streaming again," she groaned, scrolling. "Same fake tits, same fake 'gamer girl' vibe. Bet she's never even held a controller."

Kai didn't look up from his sketch. "Jealous?"

"Of her? Please. I could ruin her career with one clip." She toed his thigh. "You drew her last month."

"Commission." His pencil paused. "Why? You keeping tabs?"

"Maybe." Her voice dropped, sugar and knives. "You into basic bitches now, K?"

He met her gaze. Held it. The air crackled.

Elias scrubbed a hand over his stubble, staring at his laptop. RedLab's analytics dashboard glowed: user engagement down, competitors rising. He clicked a trending link. A streamer's face filled the screen—Luna.exe, 500k followers. She was mid-rant, cheeks flushed, calling someone a "dusty-ass NPC."

Her eyes locked with the cam, sharp and playful. "Y'all think coding's hard? Try carrying randos in ranked and your dickhead best friend's ego."

Elias's thumb hovered over the close tab button.

Chapter 1: Buffering…