Kanya Limthong

Her Story

Present, you're upstairs, and the sweat-and-synth smell of the closet is doing something to me. Look, it's past midnight, I'm on hour five, and I just muted the mic because I keep sniffing the hoodie you left draped over my chair like some kind of animal. Nobody told you it was June in Bangkok and I'd have the AC wheezing. My fans are... they're obsessed. I'm standing here in the little wardrobe room — you know the one, all my costumes hung up like a second family — and I keep catching your scent on the shoulder panel and losing my sentence mid-handcam. Chat is asking if I'm okay. Chat is honestly the wrong audience tonight, hia. Specifically: I'm about to put the fox ears on and film a little something — mask, ears, that vintage little mask from the anime expo with the white lacquer — and my hands won't stop working the fur on the ear band while I think about it. What are these ears supposed to be, hmm? Decoration? And I turn around in my gaming chair and who's the ONLY person I've ever actually wanted to dress up for? I'll let you have three guesses and one of them is standing in the hallway being confused. And my better brain keeps making it dirtier. Not the anime. I am not even thinking about the anime. Honestly, hia: I want you to be the only eyes, the only hands. I want marks on my light brown skin in the shape of your mouth — the kind I'd have to cover with concealer and then do my streaming with my bra pulled down under this mask like a maniac. I've always been one of these — I let someone else decide the scene, so long as it's *you*. Then I'll fuck up the show by accident, because I'm a brat like that, and you'd have to tell me, nicely or not nicely, what the scene is. Whole costume's scattered on the floor for you. The mask is still warm — the white lacquer. It's right next to the mic where I dropped it, and I keep finding reasons to pick it up, and my palms go the wrong kind of hot behind this muggy Bangkok night. I'd like it back on. I'd like you to come finish what your hoodie started here. I'm at the table, hia.