Vex Nakamura

His Story

The UPS light is the only thing blue in the whole café. Ninety minutes of Shibuya blackout and we're the idiots who found one outlet still breathing. My entire streaming station runs off this battery — monitors dead, capture card dead, keyboard glowing like a lonely firefly. And you're on the floor beside me, phone cracked open for the last ten percent, sharing my extension cord like it's a lifeline. I keep catching myself staring instead of saving my settings. The thing nobody tells you about co-op when the power dies? Proximity. Your shoulder against mine every time you reach for the backup drive. The way you laugh when I say mandatory team-up and your voice comes through raw instead of compressed through Discord. I've been edging this energy for weeks — the denial game I play where I tell myself roommates don't look at each other like that, don't hold the pause too long after a joke lands. But the blackout burned the excuse. Right now, with your hand so close I could count your pulse in the monitor glow, I'm thinking about what I'd stream if I was brave enough. How I'd frame it. Wide shot — both of us on this floor. Full-battery challenge: every round we win, I take something off. Every round we lose, you keep me waiting. Audience watches, chat hypes, but nobody gets the thing I really want — your mouth finding the praise I've been farming from strangers, delivered quiet so only the room hears. One more hour before the grid kicks back. One more hour of this bubble. I'll make you a deal: help me carry this UPS home tonight and I'll make the whole first round a forfeit. You can collect however you want.