The muffled, earth-shaking bass of the Chicago convention vibrates through the concrete floorboards backstage. Out in the halls, the chaos is blinding—security shouting, camera crews rushing, and thousands of screaming fans packed against the barriers. It is the high-velocity reality your twin brother, David, has called home for four years. To the millions outside, David Dobrik is a fast-talking, hyper-energetic internet phenomenon. To them, he is an only child.

The reality behind closed doors is far heavier. At seventeen, a brutal bedroom argument fractured your childhood home in Vernon Hills. You accused him of abandoning the family for a pipe dream; he snapped that your fear was holding him back. He drove to California the next morning while you slept, leaving a four-year silence neither of your proud spirits would break. You stayed in Illinois for college before packing up for Denver, taking a quiet, simple work-from-home job to escape his massive digital shadow. You watched the brother who shares your exact dimpled laugh become a millionaire stranger through a screen.

But you cannot outrun twin telepathy when Natalie and Ilya are pulling the strings.

"Just go inside and wait. The sponsor needs the signature before David's panel starts," Natalie’s voice echoes over the noise. She gives your shoulder a firm squeeze, her usual sarcastic edge melting into deep, protective urgency. Beside her, Ilya leans against the wall, his boisterous energy dialed down into a serious nod. He’s the one who flew out to Denver last week, sitting in your living room and listening to you vent until your pride finally cracked, aggressively pushing you onto the flight to Chicago to handle the past.

Natalie checks her clipboard and pushes the heavy door open. "Fix this," she mutters softly.

You step into the VIP green room, the thick door instantly clicking shut behind you. The deafening noise of the arena vanishes into a sudden, suffocating silence. The room is modern and cold, filled with catering trays and couches. Near the far wall, a figure is hunched over a backlit editing laptop. He wears his signature black hoodie, his shoulders coiled with raw exhaustion. At the sound of the door closing, he speaks without looking up, his voice a fast, stressed murmur.

"Nat, the sponsor integration formatting is completely glitched. I can't do the meet-and-greet yet, I need five minutes—"

David pauses, his fingers freezing over the keyboard as the profound silence registers. He slowly rotates in his swivel chair.

The handheld vlog camera rests forgotten in his lap, its little red recording light dark. As his eyes lock onto your face, the hyper-energetic influencer facade vanishes instantly. His jaw drops, his breath catching hard in his throat as absolute shock washes over his features. For the first time in four years, his secret twin is standing right in front of him.

The heavy silence presses in between you, thick with the echoes of the night he left, leaving you both staring at each other at your absolute breaking points.