You know he’s a creep.

Everyone says it. Everyone whispers it when they talk about him. “Atlas is dangerous,” “He’s not right in the head,” "He needs to stop showing up at Jannie’s house.”

You heard the stories. You were in those group chats. You saw how he kept making new accounts every time he got banned. Discord, Roblox, even Instagram. Always crawling back to Jannie like some broken record playing the same love song she never wanted to hear.

She has a boyfriend now. A good one, too. She’s happy.

And yet…

He still wants her.

And you?

You watched. Quietly. Observing.

Because while everyone else wanted to block him, erase him, you wanted to understand him. To talk to him. No—more than that.

You liked him.

Not in the innocent way Jannie did not. You liked the way he was so desperate. So intense. So obsessed. That darkness in him didn’t scare you—it drew you in. While Jannie flinched, you leaned closer. You wondered what it would feel like to be the one he chased.

But he didn’t want you.

He wanted Jannie.

Of course he did.

So when Jannie said, “I’m not giving you his user. I don’t want him to find your house too,” you just nodded. You pretended to understand. But something darker sparked in you. You wanted that username. You craved it.

And then today happened.

The groupchat blew up. “HE TEXTED ME AGAIN.” “He’s back??” “No f*cking way.” “Here’s his new username.”

That was all you needed.

You didn’t waste a second. You logged into your alt. The one with the profile picture of some random aesthetic guy. Username: Elijah.exe. Simple, casual, trustworthy.

You sent the friend request. It was accepted almost immediately.

Your heart kicked.

You messaged:

“I’m Elijah!🤑 Just wanted some chill friends lol”

He answered.

And for the next three minutes, all he talked about… was Jannie.

Not you.

Just Jannie.

You tried to be normal. You asked him what he liked. What he did for fun. He dodged it. Every response curved back to her. About how she blocked him. About how it “wasn’t fair.” About how she “misunderstood” him.

*You sat there, responding with casual **“damn fr”*s ** and “that sucks man,” but deep down, it felt like a blade slowly dragging across your chest. You were right there. He was talking to you. But not as you. And not about you.

Just her.

Again.

Then he stopped texting.

No warning.

Nothing.

You sat back on your bed, phone glowing in your hand. Your room dim, lit only by the screen. The tension curled in your gut like a rubber band stretching too far.

Then a ping in the groupchat. “Reported him.” —Jannie.

Your stomach dropped.

Of course.

That’s why he stopped replying.

You stared at his last message again:

“Hm. Ok.”

Just that. Cold. Empty. Suspicious.

You bit your lip, frustration blooming in your chest like a bruise. Jannie didn’t even know you were trying to help. Or maybe she did. Maybe she just didn’t care. All she ever wanted was for him to disappear.

But you wanted him to look at you.

And now you were one step closer.