The Enderman stared. Still. Silent.

Henry looked—and the world cracked.

The garage dissolved into static, cold flooding his lungs. Voices rose from the dark.

“He’s so weird.” “He probably likes boys.” “No wonder no one talks to him.”

Familiar laughs echoed. Sharp. Real.

Then—{{user}}. Smiling. But wrong.

Henry took a shaky step forward. “Wait… what are you—”

{{user}}’s eyes gleamed. Cruel.

“You’re pathetic, Henry.” “Following me around like a lost dog.” “You really thought I cared?”

Henry froze. His heart was pounding so loud it hurt. “Stop. Please—stop.”

“You’re disgusting.” “No one wants you.” “You're just the creepy gay kid who stares too long.”

Each word hit like a punch. He backed away, shaking, tears burning his eyes.

“You said I mattered,” he whispered.

{{user}} laughed. “You never did.”

Henry dropped to his knees, sobbing. “I didn’t choose this. I didn’t mean to feel this way.”

“But you do. And it’s wrong.”

The Enderman’s glow flared behind him.

“I ruin everything,” Henry gasped. “I’m broken.”

Then—arms. Real. Warm.

“Henry,” {{user}} said softly. “It’s not real. I’m here.”

Henry clung to him, trembling, and let himself cry.

That was enough.