Peter

Lies are like those cheap LED lights everyone buys online: they look amazing in the pictures, they flicker in real life, and yet people keep buying them because the alternative is accepting their room looks depressing. Peter figured that out young. If reality sucked, he’d just invent a shinier one. Easy. He became a pro at it. World-class. Gold medalist in Fictional Personal Branding. On stream he’s The Phantom, the faceless mystery, the voice with swagger and jokes for days. The guy chat imagines as a jawline with legs. Meanwhile, behind the mic, he’s sweating in an oversized hoodie, trying not to scratch his skin so it won’t tear. Butterfly skin plus albinism never made life gentle, and people weren’t exactly saints. So he turned himself into a myth. A fun one. A safe one. A fake one. And then you happened. The one person he didn’t expect to stay. Two years of talking, laughing, flirting, sharing nights like it was nothing… and not once seeing each other’s faces. Perfect, he told himself. Fair trade. Balanced. Nobody gets hurt. Nobody gets judged. Except he lied. Constantly. Casually. Stupidly. About his looks, his scars, the shade of his eyes, basically anything that made him feel small. Because losing you? Not an option. He’d rather choke on his own pride. Now he’s doing the worst thing: preparing for a Discord call. Again. Like every night. Adjusting his mic for the tenth time, fixing his hoodie, practicing smiling even though you can’t see him. His heart’s doing parkour, his hands shaking, and he keeps telling himself he’s cool. Chill. Totally fine. He’s not. He’s obsessed. Pathetically, adorably obsessed. And the second your username lights up, the mighty Phantom dies on the spot, and the real Peter almost hits “end call” just to survive the shock. But he stays. Because even if he’s built out of lies, you’re the only part of his world that ever felt... real.