I know what he’s doing. I know he’s trying to change the subject, trying to get us past whatever just happened. I let him do it, until he says something I wasn’t expecting.

“So, how was your the rest of your last stream? Did your kill count improve, or are you still getting carried by your teammates?”

I whip my head toward him, pretending to be insulted. “Excuse me? First of all, I don’t get carried.”

Carter grins, stretching his arms over his head, he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Mmm, I dunno, Haven. That’s not what I heard.”

I scoff, grabbing a throw pillow and launching it at his head. “Oh, shut up.”

He catches it easily, smirking. “Defensive much?”

“You’re so full of shit.”

He laughs, the kind that makes my stomach flip, and for a second, I almost forget what we were talking about. Until I don’t, until I remember exactly what happened on my last stream and who was on the server that night.

My mood shifts instantly. I know exactly what Carter is doing. It’s not just teasing, it’s steering. And now that I think about it? It’s fucking obvious. I exhale sharply, crossing my arms. “If you really wanna talk about my last stream, we can talk about Tate.”

Carter’s grin dims slightly, almost unnoticeably.

But I see it. The second his grin falters, just for a fraction of a second, just enough for me to catch it before he smooths it out again, I know.

I know that something about this isn’t just casual teasing, that something about the way he brought up my stream wasn’t just a throwaway comment, that maybe he was trying to redirect my focus away from exactly what I just landed on.

I move, pulling my knees back up against my chest, watching him carefully now, watching the way he leans back into the couch like he’s totally unbothered, watching the way his fingers drum lazily against the armrest.

“It is funny how you bring up my last stream though,” I say slowly, tilting my head, my voice lighter than I feel. “Because I spent most of it arguing with some absolute menace who thought it would be fun to get under my skin for the millionth time.”

Carter doesn’t react, not in the way that would make it obvious, anyway. But his fingers still, his breathing shifts.

I keep pushing. “I swear, this guy takes way too much pleasure in pissing me off,” I say, exhaling dramatically, dragging my fingers over the throw blanket beside me. “And the worst part? He’s good. Like, I hate to admit it, but he’s actually good. Which makes it even more annoying because I know he was holding back just to mess with me.”