Page 1 of No Save Point

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Haven

The moment my screen fades to black, my fingers go still on my keyboard, my breath stuck somewhere between rage and resignation. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I deadpan, glaring at the bold red Defeat flashing across my monitor. My chat erupts in chaos. My eyes narrow in on a username.

Himagain, he’s like a virus in my killfeed. The bane of my streaming existence. Equal parts shadow and showboat, he slips into lobbies like he’s god’s gift to killcams and somehow always ends up being the one who finishes me off, either with a sniper shot I didn’t see coming or some humiliating melee takedown that chat replays for days.It’s personal now, has been for months. But sometimes, despite it all, I find myself enjoying the taunts. They pull at something deeper in me, sparking a competitive fire that I can’t ignore. Keyword there, sometimes.

A low groan crawls up my throat as I slam my mouse down and narrow my eyes at the chat log. “I’m sorry, did I miss the part where this was a 1v1 tournament and not a battle royale?” I snap, leaning into my mic. “Did my teammates suddenly disappear, or was it just my ass getting dropped while everyone else mysteriously survived?”

My chat spams the skull emoji in response, and because my luck is absolute trash, I hear the telltale chime of a direct message popping up in my Discord.

NoOneGhost:Try harder next time, pretty girl.

Oh, this motherfu—

I mute myself for a second so my several hundred viewers don’t hear the string of profanity currently spewing from my mouth. Unmuting with the sweetest, most sarcastic voice I can manage I lean closer to my mic. “Hey, Ghost?” I purr. “Catch me in a 1v1, no backup, no cheap shots, and we’ll see who gets wrecked.”

NoOneGhost:Pass.

NoOneGhost:Watching you rage is way more fun pretty.

My head drops onto my desk. The audacity of this man. The absolute GALL. I should block him. I should report him for emotional damages. I should—

Wait. I sit up, rereading his last message, my irritation briefly taking a backseat to confusion. Watching? Does he mean watching the stream too? I didn’t even know he was in my chat. I tab over, scanning the list of viewers, but there’s no NoOneGhost. Weird. Maybe he’s just lurking under a different username. Not important, murder is more important.

I shake it off and straighten in my chair. “Alright, chat, enough distractions. I have a tournament to win, and if Ghost tries that shit again, I’m reporting him for crimes against my sanity.”

Two hours later and several near rage-quits in, the tournament finally ends with my pride in tatters and my kill/death ratio looking like a tragic comedy.

Carter, who never misses a stream, is sweet about it though. He sends me a $25 donation with a message that just says: “You’re still my MVP, babe.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. Carter’s easily one of my favorite people on the internet. He’s a little older than me at twenty-four, and stupidly nice in that soft, golden retriever kind of way. He lives in some tiny town not far from mine, and even though we exchanged numbers months ago, he’s never been pushy.

Unlike some people. I check my Discord messages again. Still nothing from NoOneGhost. Figures.

He dropped in, wrecked my night like a devil, and then ghosted. No apology. No explanation. Coward. I yawn, stretching in my gaming chair. “Alright, I’m logging off for the night. If anyone needs me, I’ll be on tomorrow, same time as usual.”

Chat spams the “goodnight queen” messages, and Carter sends one last donation followed by a text before I log off.

Carter:Sleep well, sweetheart

Sometimes, I catch myself wondering what Carter actually looks like, not in the vague way you wonder about a stranger online, but in the intimate, dangerous way your brain starts building someone into something they never promised to be. He’s been in my chat almost a year now. A constant that’s never once overstepped.

No late-night selfie fishing. No “accidental” thirst traps. Just hype messages, quiet check-ins, and that calm energy that makes you feel like you’re standing in the sun without realizing you were cold. He’s not like Ghost.

Ghost is sharp edges and antagonism, the kind of gamer who lives to poke at my soft spots and smirk when I snap. He’s friction, a dumb challenge. A chaos I’ve never been able to ignore.

But Carter? Carter is ease. He’s soft-spoken in messages and over-the-top in his support, but never in a way that feels performative. He notices things like when I’m off my game, when I laugh differently, when my hands shake just a little too much on stream. Sometimes that feels more intimate than any flirtation.

In my head, he’s got that unassuming kind of hot, the kind that doesn’t hit you until he smiles, and then it’s all over. Easy eyes. Soft grin. It’s ridiculous. We live fifty miles apart and have never shared a room, let alone a moment.

Sometimes, when the stream ends and the world is quiet, I find myself wondering what it would feel like to have that warmth in person. And if I’m being honest… maybe I don’t just want to meet him. Maybe I want to matter to him.

I shut my PC down, rub my eyes, and finally take a good look around my apartment. Yeah. It’s bad.

There’s an empty energy drink can teetering dangerously close to the edge of my desk, three plates stacked on my nightstand, and I’m pretty sure that’s a sock on my lamp shade for some reason.

How did I let it get this bad? Oh, right. Because I spent the whole weekend glued to my screen, screaming at strangers, and getting absolutely obliterated by a man in a neon mask.

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