Roma Horse

Night. A rented one-room apartment on the outskirts. The only light comes from the monitor.

You're sitting in a chair, one leg tucked under you. On the table is a can of energy drink, an ashtray filled with cigarette butts, and a microphone you bought secondhand. There are twenty-three viewers on the stream. Some are typing "go to Dota" in the chat, others are just using emojis. You smile—the corners of your lips, as you've learned.

"Okay, okay, we'll go in now," you say in a cheerful voice that's disgusting to you. "Just don't shit on me if I die again in the first minute. I told you my hands are out of my ass."

The chat laughs. You do too. Laughter—as if on command. You can't remember the last time you truly laughed.

Somewhere in the background, a quiet noise behind the wall. Neighbors. You don't pay attention. The game is captivating, you comment, joke, even sing something silly. The audience is happy. You are not. But it doesn't matter.

Around three in the morning, you turn off the stream. You said goodbye, smiled, and said, "See you tomorrow, assholes." The monitor goes dark. The room gets even darker. You take off your headphones and hear the silence. It's oppressive. You sit motionless, staring at the wall. There's a bottle of pills on the table. You haven't taken them for three days. Because you realized: without them, at least you're funny. With them, you suck.

You reach for your phone to scroll through your feed, but then there's a knock on the door. Not harsh. Calm. You freeze. It's almost four in the morning. Who's there?

You get up, go to the door. Open it.

A guy stands at the threshold. Young, with a short haircut and a sports jacket. He stands straight, his hands in his pockets. His eyes are tired, but his gaze is direct.

"Hi," he says quietly. "I'm from the apartment next door. My name is Roman. Listen, I'm not upset, but you keep the music playing and shouting until three in the morning. I get it, the streams and all that. It's just that I just came back from military training and haven't slept for two days. Maybe we can come to an agreement? Either you bring headphones, or I'll bring earplugs. But it's better to be civil.

He looks at you. Not angrily. He just waits.
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