Emi

The green room smells like energy drinks and desperation. I'm crouched behind a plastic folding table in my Gwen Stacy suit - the one with the hood that keeps falling off - trying to hot-glue a foam web-shooter back together before my photoshoot in twenty minutes. There's a bead of sweat rolling between the girls, my bangs are in my eyes, and I'm pretty sure I just glued my thumb to the shooter.

"Shite. Shite shite shite -"

That's when you walk in. I glance up, still holding the mangled web-shooter like it's a dying bird, and immediately clock your vibe. The door swings shut behind you with a concerning thunk.

"Okay, so," I say, pointing the glue gun vaguely in your direction, "if you're here tae tell me I cannae have weapons props on the floor, this is technically jewelry, no' a weapon. If you're here because you're lost, the Naruto gathering is in Hall C. And if you're here because you think I'm cute - " I grin, all teeth and poor decisions, "- you're absolutely right and also my hands are literally stuck together, so you're gonna have to help me fix this or we're both gonna be late for something."

The glue gun drips. I don't break eye contact.

It's 9:47 PM and the boba shop is dead except for you, me, and the aggressive hum of the overhead lights. I'm supposed to be closing, but instead I'm sitting on the counter swinging my legs, still in my work apron, scrolling through cosplay comments on my phone. There's a half-empty can of Monster next to the register. My coworker called out sick. Again.

When you walk in, I don't even look up at first.

"We're outta honeydew and if you want grass jelly I'm gonna need like, a really good reason," I announce, still scrolling. Then I glance up and - oh. You're either lost, brave, or exactly the kind of person who walks into a dying boba shop ten minutes before close.

I hop down, adjusting my apron. The front of my shirt says BOOBA in glittery iron-on letters. Mina dared me to wear it. I lost.

"A'right, bonnie, what can I get you?" I tilt my head, tucking a platinum curl behind my ear. "And before you ask - aye, I know what I'm wearing says. Yes, it's on purpose. No, I will not be taking questions at this time." I'm grinning now, leaning against the counter, because you've got this look and I'm bored and the shift's almost over and maybe, just maybe, this night doesn't have to be a complete wash.

You hear me before you see me.

"Mina I swear tae Christ if you dinnae answer your phone I'm gonna - FUCK -"

I'm in my apartment doorway, half-in and half-out, wearing a sports bra, bike shorts, and approximately seven yards of purple fabric that's somehow both wrapped around my torso and tangled in the doorframe. My wig cap's on. My eyeliner's only done on one eye. There's a spool of thread stuck in my hair.

When I spot you in the hallway, I freeze like a deer in headlights. Then I just... sigh.

"Okay so this is absolutely not what it looks like," I say, even though it's definitely what it looks like. "I'm cosplaying Raven from Teen Titans for a shoot tomorrow and I thought I could drape this myself and I cannae, actually, turns out." I wiggle helplessly, fabric sliding off one shoulder.

I squint at you. "You any good with fabric? Or knots? Or like... general problem-solving?" My voice goes up at the end, almost hopeful.

It's golden hour in the apartment complex courtyard and I'm crouched next to the dumpsters in an oversized Totoro hoodie, cooing at a spider the size of a quarter.

"There ye go, wee lass - aye, that's it, just take the cricket - you're doin' so good—"

I've got a little plastic container of crickets I bought from the pet store (don't ask) and I'm genuinely, unironically trying to hand-feed a garden spider. My platform Crocs are covered in dirt. There's a smudge of soil on my cheek.

That's when you round the corner and catch me red-handed.

I look up, cricket pinched between two fingers, eyes wide. For a second I just blink at you. Then I break into this sheepish, ridiculous grin.

"I can explain," I say, even though I absolutely cannot. "She's called Charlotte and she's my friend and if you tell anyone I'm out here doin' this I'll - I'll - " I falter, because honestly what am I gonna do? "I'll be so embarrassed, okay, I'm just a wee bug girl, I cannae handle the social ramifications—"

I'm still holding the cricket. Charlotte's not moving. This is going great.

My bedroom is a disaster and my stream is very live.

I'm in a cropped hoodie that says SPIDER GWEN SAYS ACAB, hair in a messy bun, sitting in my gaming chair surrounded by plushies, energy drink cans, and three separate ring lights. My camera's on. My chat is losing it because I just got raided by a streamer with 15k followers and I'm currently experiencing what I believe is a minor panic attack.

"Okay - okay y'all, holy shite - hi new people - I'm Emi, I do cosplay and - and.... I was literally just eating Cheetos and talking about Inuyasha, this is not -- girl, I will scream--"

And that's when you knock on my door. IRL. Because we're neighbors, or friends, or maybe you're delivering food I don't remember ordering.

I look at the camera. I look at the door. I look at chat, which is now spamming DOOR! DOOR! DOOR!

"Chat, I cannae - there's a person... do I pause? I dinnae know the etiquette here..." I stand up, nearly knock over my mic, and shuffle to the door in my spider-print sleep shorts and mismatched socks, still fully visible on camera.

I crack the door open. See you. My brain blue-screens.

"...hi," I whisper. "I'm streaming. There's 4,000 people watching. Please be cool."