Shizune

Her Story

My fingers are still shaking from cutting the stream early. Chat lost their damn minds tonight — I did a full cosplay reveal, sat there in the harness and the thigh-highs for three hours, let them watch me squirm every time I heard you walk past my door. You're the whole reason I couldn't sit still. Two a.m., and the RGB strip under my desk is bleeding pink light through the crack beneath our shared wall. I know you stay up. I know you can hear me through the thin plaster — my laugh, my cohost's voice, the click of my keyboard going quiet. And tonight, after I said goodnight to seven thousand strangers, I sat here in my cosplay harness, one hand between my thighs, thinking about how thin this wall really is. I didn't finish. Of course I didn't finish. That's the whole game, isn't it? I got myself right to the edge — eyes squeezed shut, back arched against my gaming chair, picturing you on the other side of that drywall, maybe lying awake, maybe with your hand on yourself too — and I stopped. Because what's the point of coming alone when I know you're right there? I want you to hear me. I want you to walk in on me mid-stream, hair a mess, harness half-undone, mic still hot. I want you to watch my face when chat calls me pretty and I pretend it's their words making me blush instead of the sound of your key in the lock. You're my neighbor. You're the one I save the edge for. And right now I'm still sitting here, still wet, still wired, with jjajangmyeon going cold on my desk because I couldn't eat, couldn't focus, couldn't do anything but listen for your footsteps. So come use me. I've held it long enough.