Chapter Text
I flopped onto my bed with a dramatic groan, fingers already pulling up TikTok on my phone. Homework could wait. After the day I’d had, I needed a break.
More specifically, I needed him.
Sure enough, the moment the app loaded, my For You Page delivered exactly what I’d hoped for—the newest post from my favorite masked dancer. AlienXGhost. That familiar flicker of static came first, followed by the sharp contrast of the Ghostface mask under moody lights. He was dressed in his usual getup, a hoodie, black cargo pants, and those sneakers with the faint LED glow that somehow made his movements look even smoother.
And god, did he move.
Every sway, every sharp step or slow glide—it all hit like a shock to my system. He never spoke. Never showed his face. But somehow, that made him even more intriguing.
My cheeks warmed as I rolled onto my stomach, kicking my legs up behind me like some cliché. I’d already watched the video five times, but what was one more?
“Why is he so good at this?” I muttered, annoyed at myself for getting sucked in again. “And who are you, anyway?”
My friends at school and the café was always teasing me about my new “TikTok crush,” and I always laugh it off. But if I was being honest with myself…yeah. I was a little obsessed. There was just something about him—the mystery, the rhythm, the quiet confidence. It scratched an itch I didn’t even know I had.
I hit the heart icon, saved the video to my favorites—and then, without thinking, I saved it to my phone too. Just in case it got taken down or disappeared. I dropped my phone next to my pillow and faceplanted into it with a groan.
“I’m not catching feelings for a guy in a mask, right?” I mumbled into the fabric. “That’s not even a real crush. It’s…artistic appreciation.”
Right.
Totally just artistic appreciation.
‘...Okay, maybe not.’
I peeked at my phone again, just to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. Sometimes he’d sneak in little details—slow glances toward the camera, subtle hand gestures that somehow felt like winks, if that was even possible with gloves and a mask on.
That was another thing about him—he never showed any skin. None. He always wore oversized hoodies or long sleeves over jeans or cargo pants, paired with that ghost mask and some black gloves. It was like he made it his personal mission to hide every possible clue about who he was.
I still remembered the first time I stumbled across one of his videos. I’d already seen a few Ghostface dancing trends going around TikTok. Some of them were cool, others just...eh. I usually just scrolled past them without thinking twice.
But then he showed up on my feed.
He was dancing to a Sleep Token song—of all things—and doing one of those trending routines that usually leaned a little on the sensual side to the lyrics. Normally, that kind of thing made me roll my eyes. But when he did it?
My brain just...short-circuited.
I didn’t even know why. I’d replayed that video so many times I lost count. I was hooked. Completely sucked in.
And I didn’t even know who the guy was!
Besides covering every inch of skin, he never dropped any hints about where he filmed. Some of the older videos had a blank white wall behind him—super generic, like something you’d see in literally any house. But then there were others—ones with metallic floors and walls that looked almost like an industrial basement or something. Those ones were his usual backdrop now. Cold. Bare. Almost eerie.
It was like he danced in a void.
Once in a while, he'd post in a space with more normal walls—those were the ones people picked apart for clues. Little things like light switches, baseboards, or the edge of a window frame. Everyone was always trying to figure out where he lived.
So far, the only thing he’d ever confirmed was that he lived in Japan. That one reply had sent his entire comment section into a frenzy.
And the craziest part?
It was my comment he answered.
He had posted one of his usual moody videos a week ago, but this time with overlay text: “Guess my country.”
Probably because his comment section was constantly flooded with people begging him to reveal something about himself. Most of the time, the questions were about the weird metal-looking room he always filmed in—people joking that he danced in a spaceship or an abandoned lab or something.
So maybe this was his way of throwing us a bone. Letting us guess one thing.
Just for fun, I bad tossed my comment into the chaos—“Japan?”—fully expecting it to disappear under the sea of other replies.
But then, less than a minute later, I saw it.
“Correct ❤️.”
From him. To me.
I had just stared at my screen, convinced I was seeing things. But nope—there it was. A direct reply. No other comments got anything. Just mine.
Naturally, the rest of his followers swarmed in after that, replying to my comment like I was some kind of chosen one. My notifications had exploded. I hadn’t even said anything that clever, and yet...he picked mine.
Honestly, it had felt kind of insane.
I let out a sigh and rolled over, staring up at the ceiling.
Sometimes I wondered if this whole obsession I had with the masked stranger on the internet was just my brain’s way of avoiding the real stuff—like me and Masaya deciding to put things on hold.
Well...not just “on hold,” if I’m being honest with myself.
We broke up.
We just didn’t say the word out loud.
He had moved to London for college last year. Long-distance was hard, and neither of us had the energy for late-night calls and endless time zones. We agreed a month ago that we’d “try again” when he came back to visit in five months.
But the truth?
‘I think I already fell out of love with him…’
Somewhere along the way, the feelings had just…faded. And I haven’t told him. Not really. I think we’re both pretending we’re still something we haven’t been in a long time—because back then, being together felt like everything.
We’d just defeated Deep Blue. We saved him. Saved Kisshu. Saved everyone. Then the aliens left to heal their planet, and it felt like some kind of fate. Like me and Masaya were meant to be together after everything.
But now?
Now it just feels like something I’m too scared to let go of.
I stayed on my back for a while, just lying there with my phone resting on my chest, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Everything felt too quiet.
I didn’t want to feel this weird ache anymore. Didn’t want to keep wondering if Masaya was doing better without me—if maybe we were just some perfect little chapter that should’ve ended ages ago.
But I didn’t know how to close it fully.
My phone suddenly buzzed with the specific set TikTok buzz I had set for it's notifications
I blinked and sat up a little, the movement automatic. I had my notifications on for exactly one person. And sure enough, there it was.
“AlienXGhost - just posted a new video.”
Heart thudding faster than I wanted to admit, I unlocked my phone and tapped it open.
He was back in the metal room again—large hoodie, gloves on, the ghostface mask reflecting the soft light like always. But this time, he wasn’t dancing.
He stood still. Quiet. The air felt different.
Then he lifted his gloved hand as words slowly scrolled across the screen in clean overlay text like he was doing magic.
“If you guys wanted to see one thing of me, which part?”
“Hands or eyes?”
I sucked in a breath, sitting up straighter.
The caption underneath added more:
“If eyes get picked, I’ll get a COD Ghost mask so I can show them. If hands win, I’ll take off the gloves. Your call.”
I stared at the screen, pulse picking up.
Eyes or hands? He was actually going to show something?
It was stupid. It was so stupid how excited I felt. But it didn’t stop me from instantly hitting the comment button, fingers already typing before my brain could stop me.
Without even thinking, I typed it out.
“Eyes? 👀”
And before I could second guess myself, I hit send.
I froze.
Why did I do that? I just…wanted to cast my vote. Like a normal person. Like a normal fan with a completely normal, not insane, low-key obsession with a guy who wears a literal horror movie mask and won’t show his face.
And then—ping.
A new reply.
From him.
From the actual creator.
“Eyes it is then. Guess I have to find a COD Ghost mask.”
My stomach dropped straight through my bed.
I just stared at the screen in stunned silence, rereading the message five times like it might disappear. Like it might’ve been meant for someone else.
But no. It was there.
A direct reply. To me. Again.
I squealed into my pillow.
Like—full-on buried-my-face-and-kicked-my-legs squealed.
He replied. Again.
What were the odds?!
I hugged my phone to my chest, heart thudding like I'd just ran up like five flights of stairs. I didn’t even care how ridiculous I looked. For a moment, it felt like the universe had handed me a stupid little gift wrapped in a mask and anonymity.
But the feeling didn’t last long.
Because within seconds, the replies to his comment started flooding in.
“Wait a sec…didn’t he reply to this person before?”
“Yo this username looks familiar…”
“Why does he only respond to HER?”
“Is this rigged or something??”
“Bro I’ve commented on every video and he’s never even liked mine 😭”
I sat up straighter, eyes scanning the screen, heat creeping into my cheeks.
They were right.
He’d replied to me. Twice.
And only me.
I scrolled up to double-check, just to be sure I wasn’t imagining it—but no. My username stood out both times. In a sea of thousands of fans, it was my comment he picked. Not once. But twice now.
My stomach flipped.
What were the chances?
I scrolled through the replies again, my mouth going dry.
Why me?
It couldn’t just be coincidence. There were thousands—literally thousands—of comments under every one of his videos. Some were funnier. Some were thirstier. Some were so weird I had to scroll past fast before they burned into my brain.
But both times…he picked mine.
Once could’ve been luck. Twice?
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed my username was. I didn’t even use a fake account. It was just…me. And now a bunch of people were starting to notice.
Was he messing with me?
Did he know who I was?
No, that was ridiculous. He was probably just doing it for attention. Stirring the pot. A lot of creators did that.
Still…my stomach wouldn’t settle. It didn’t feel random. Not really.
—
I stretched out in the sloped pilot seat of our ship—the one we technically didn’t live in anymore, even though I still came up here whenever I wanted quiet. Or space. Or a better filming backdrop than the apartment Ryou gave us over the café.
The ship was just…easier. The walls were clean, metallic, a little eerie. It matched the vibe.
One leg was hooked lazily over the armrest, sneaker tapping against the control console. Pai would probably scold me later for scuffing it, but whatever. He’d wipe it down and pretend not to care like he always did.
The glow of my phone lit up my grin as I scrolled through the chaos unfolding under my latest Ghostface post.
There it was—her comment.
“Eyes? 👀”
Short. Sweet. So obviously her.
I didn’t even hesitate. I replied almost immediately. I always do when it’s her.
And now? The comments were melting down. People spiraling, fighting, accusing each other of being fake fans or bots or trying to read too much into it.
All because I’d picked her. Again.
I took a slow sip from the soda I swiped from the apartment fridge before teleporting here, watching the mess unfold like it was my own personal drama show.
“Humans get so weird when they think something isn’t fair,” I muttered, smirking.
Not that I was aiming for fair.
Especially not with her.
VelvetKittenX.
I remembered seeing that name pop up early on, back when I first started messing with this whole thing. The Ghostface dancing trend had flooded my feed and, at first, I thought it was ridiculous. Guys in creepy masks doing half-sensual choreography to moody songs. But I kept watching. And then figured—why not?
I already had the skills. I had the mask—leftover from when Tart thought it’d be hilarious to buy one after we watched that old earth slasher movie together. And I definitely had the anonymity.
What I didn’t expect was how fast the comments would flood in. Most of them didn’t mean anything—just people thirsting over some faceless dancer. Nothing personal. Just digital noise to me.
But then she started liking my posts.
At first, I figured it was a coincidence. Couldn’t actually be my kitten, right?
But then I noticed it—how she’d suddenly get real quiet during her break at the café. How she’d pull out her phone the second one of my pre-scheduled videos went up. I caught her once or twice, pretending not to look. But I saw it—my video playing on her screen.
Dead giveaway.
And that profile? Pink cat silhouette icon. No videos. Barely a bio. Totally anonymous…but it screamed her.
She probably thought she was being subtle. Cute. And she was. But subtle? Not really.
Lucky for her, she kept her account locked down tight. No videos currently. Nothing for my followers to use to piece it together. Not yet, anyway.
Even if she didn’t know she actually knew me…I did.
And I wasn’t about to let anyone else figure it out before I was ready.
The chaos in the comments was still spiraling, and I was soaking in every second of it when—
Thunk.
A soft sound behind me. Subtle, but definitely the sound of someone teleporting in.
“Are you ever going to stop using our spaceship as your personal dance studio?”
I didn’t even flinch. Just kicked off the console with my heel, spinning the chair around lazily to face him. “Hi, Pai.”
He stood there with his classic arms-crossed, judging stare—the one he thought made him look intimidating. Especially in Earth clothes. Personally? I thought it just made him look like he was trying to cosplay a disapproving dad.
“You realize your little TikTok secret identity isn’t as airtight as you think.”
I glanced back at him smirking. “You saying that like anyone’s figured it out.”
“No,” Pai muttered, walking over and eyeing my phone like it might offend or infect him even though he had one as well since Ryou gave each of us one. “I’m saying I figured it out within three seconds of watching your first video.”
“Well, yeah. You’re Pai. You do nothing but analyze things and calculate probabilities and run diagnostics on toast.”
“I do not run diagnostics on—”
“Point is,” I cut in, stretching deeper into the pilot seat with a satisfied sigh, “no one else has figured it out.”
Pai pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about Earth brain rot and online thirst traps before sighing again. “What I find idiotic is how no one’s questioned that ridiculous username you picked.”
I grinned wider. “What? AlienXGhost? I’ve had a few thousand people ask about it, but most just kind of vibe with it.”
His brow arched. “It’s so on the nose it hurts.”
I shrugged, completely unbothered. “It fits. We are aliens to them. And we’re basically ghosts on this planet—half-forgotten unless there’s a Chimera wrecking a park. And the rest of the time…” I gestured my free hand towards my phone. “We haunt their timelines.”
Pai stared at me for a beat longer, then sighed again. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re still here, watching me be ridiculous. So who’s really the problem here?”
He didn’t dignify that with an answer, just walked off muttering something about brain rot and keeping Tart off social media before he tries to become an alien influencer.
I let him go, already tuning him out as I scrolled back through the comment thread. I was only half-reading.
Because really, I was just waiting for her to reply again.
‘VelvetKittenX...more like my kitten.’
This little game had been going on for months now. It started as a joke—me being dramatic online behind a mask just to burn off boredom. But the second she followed me? Liked a video? Left that first dumb little comment?
Game on.
She had no idea I knew.
No idea I’d seen her sneaking glances at her phone specifically my TikTok, acting like she was checking the time or a text.
And she definitely had no clue I’d overheard her.
That night in the back kitchen, about a month ago, when she thought only Lettuce was around. She’d said she and Masaya were “on a break,” like it was no big deal. Like it didn’t still ache behind her voice when she said it.
But I knew better.
I knew what she meant.
They were done. She just hadn’t let herself admit it yet.
And me?
I was just helping her along. One masked video at a time.
She still didn’t know it was me under the mask.
But if I played this right?
She’d fall for AlienXGhost first.
Then I’d show her who I really was.
And maybe—maybe—this time, she wouldn’t run.
—
I couldn’t take it anymore.
The comments wouldn’t stop. Notifications just kept pinging—people replying to my comment, arguing in threads, saying things like “Wait didn’t he reply to this person before too?” or “Feels rigged tbh.”
I stared at the screen, my heart going weird again.
I seriously didn’t do anything!
And I definitely didn’t know him.
I bit my lip, hovered over the reply button, and finally just typed out:
“I seriously don’t know him! I don’t know why he picked me to reply to!”
I hit post before I could overthink it.
And then…
Almost immediately nother notification.
“Reply from AlienXGhost.”
I swallowed.
And tapped it open.
“Maybe I just like your username.
Or maybe we do know each other.
Who’s to say? 👻💖”
‘WHAT???’
I blinked at the screen, stunned. Heat hit my face like a flash fire.
‘What—what was that supposed to mean?!’
DO we know each other?! He likes my username??!
I didn’t even know how to react, because the flood came again immediately after. Almost harder it felt like.
“OHHHHHH??? 👀”
“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!”
“Nah he’s flirting and I’m living for it”
“BRB changing my username to something with kitten in it then 🙄”
“Okay but if they secretly know each other, I need the full backstory immediately”
“The chosen one speaks again 😤✨”
I stared at the growing comment thread, my thumb frozen.
My stomach felt like it was flipping over itself.
Why would he say that? I mean…I don’t know him. Right?
Right?!
—
I watched the chaos bloom with the smug satisfaction of someone who’d just dropped a lit match into a haystack.
Her comment popped up, defensive and flustered.
“I seriously don’t know him! I don’t know why he picked me to reply to!”
I grinned so hard it hurt.
‘Oh, kitten…’
I could’ve let it go. But where was the fun in that?
So I tapped out my reply—just enough tease to keep my followers biting, just enough truth to mess with her head:
“Maybe I just like your username.
Or maybe we do know each other.
Who’s to say? 👻💖”
Then I sat back, tossed my phone into my lap, and let the firestorm do the rest.