A Liminal Corner Online

FIVE STARS

Kurt Kunkle X Reader

Chapter Nine: Safe Together

Your POV

It happened so fast.

One moment you were locking up the café, the key trembling in your hands. The next, Kurt’s car was there — pulling up too close to the curb, headlights blinding.

You froze. He was out of the driver’s seat in an instant, hoodie drawn up, eyes wild and shining.

“You said it,” he panted, breath fogging in the cool night air. “You said I was the only one. You can’t take that back. You can’t.”

“Kurt, please—”

Your words cut off in a gasp as his hand closed around your arm. Not bruising, not violent — but iron-strong, trembling with desperation.

“I’m taking you somewhere safe,” he whispered. “Away from all of them. Away from everyone who doesn’t deserve you.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears as he pulled you toward the car. Passersby barely glanced up, no one seeing the panic in your eyes, the way your feet dragged against the pavement. You wanted to scream, but your voice locked tight in your throat.

Inside, the car smelled sharp with cleaning spray and something sour beneath. The doors locked with a heavy click.

Kurt’s smile was shaky, cracked with relief. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you now. You don’t have to pretend with me anymore.”

You pressed against the door, heart pounding, the seatbelt biting your shoulder. Outside, the streets blurred past. You realized, with icy clarity, that the world you knew — the last fragile threads of freedom — were slipping away behind you.

And Kurt was all that was left.

His POV

This was perfect.

The wheel hummed beneath his hands, the road stretching wide, endless. And you — sitting right there beside him. Finally. Exactly where you belonged.

“You’ll thank me,” he whispered, almost to himself. “One day, you’ll see how much I love you. How much I’ve done for you.”

His chest ached with the weight of it — the yearning, the devotion, the hunger. Nobody else got it. Nobody else ever would. They’d all left him, laughed at him, ignored him. But not you.

You saw him. You said it yourself.

That was all the proof he needed.

“I built this for us,” he said suddenly, voice cracking with excitement. “You’re gonna love it. It’s… it’s private. Safe. No one can get in. Just you and me. Forever.”

The thought sent a thrill down his spine. He gripped the wheel tighter, a grin splitting his face.

Finally, it was happening.

Finally, you were his.

Chapter Ten: Our Place

Your POV

The drive ended at the edge of the city — where the neon bled into shadows and the streets narrowed into cracked asphalt. Kurt pulled into the gravel lot of a low, run-down warehouse. The windows were blacked out, the door spray-painted over with fading tags.

Your chest tightened. No one would ever look for you here.

Kurt jumped out with a jittery kind of excitement, rushing to your door before you could react. He opened it with a flourish, bowing like some awkward gentleman.

“Here we are,” he whispered, voice trembling with reverence. “Our place.”

Your legs felt like lead, but you moved, because his hand was at your back, steering you toward the heavy metal door. The hinges screeched as it opened.

Inside, the air was stale with dust and chemicals. But the space had been… changed.

A mattress in the corner, covered with mismatched blankets. Christmas lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling, casting weak colored glows. A small table with two chipped mugs. On the wall — photos. Printed screenshots from your social media, blurry pictures that could only have been taken when you weren’t looking.

Your stomach lurched.

Kurt’s voice was soft, awestruck. “See? It’s not much… yet. But it’s ours. No one else gets in. No one else gets you.”

You forced a smile, throat tight. “It’s… cozy.”

The word burned on your tongue, but his face lit up like you’d handed him salvation.

“I knew you’d get it,” he said, dropping onto the mattress and patting the spot beside him. “Come on. Sit with me. I want to show you everything.”

Your body screamed to run, but your mind whispered survival. Slowly, you lowered yourself onto the edge of the mattress, his knee brushing yours.

And you realized, with sinking dread, that this wasn’t a temporary madness.

This was your new reality.

His POV

He watched you take it all in, and his chest swelled with pride.

The lights, the blankets, the photos — proof of all the time, the effort, the love he’d poured into making this right. For you. For both of you.

You looked nervous, of course. That was normal. You weren’t used to being cared for like this, not really. But you smiled. You called it cozy. And that was everything.

“You’re safe here,” he murmured, leaning closer, eyes shining. “Nobody can hurt you. Nobody can take you away. I’ll make sure of it.”

He reached for your hand, trembling as his fingers laced through yours.

“You and me,” he whispered fiercely, almost reverently. “Forever.”

And in his mind, there was no fear in your eyes.

Only love.

Chapter Eleven: First Night

Your POV

The mattress dipped as Kurt flopped down beside you, his jittering energy vibrating through the thin blankets. He sat cross-legged, facing you, eyes darting over every inch of your face like he was memorizing you.

You sat stiffly, your hands in your lap, the walls closing in with their sickly strings of colored lights.

Kurt’s voice cracked the silence.

“Do you… do you even realize how lucky we are?” He gave a shaky laugh, rubbing his palms on his jeans. “Like, I’ve been waiting for this — for you — forever. And now it’s real. You’re here. With me. You chose me.”

Your chest tightened. He was rewriting reality, bending your fear into proof of devotion.

“Kurt—” you started softly, but he cut you off, his voice trembling.

“Just—just tell me you love me. Please. Just once. I need to hear it.”

Your breath caught. His wide eyes gleamed, wet at the corners, begging like a child starved for affection. You nodded slowly, words choking on your tongue.

“I… I love you, Kurt.”

It was paper-thin, brittle. But it was enough.

His grin spread sharp and wide, a gasp of relief breaking from his chest. He leaned closer, trembling hands braced against the mattress.

“Then kiss me,” he whispered. “Please. Just one kiss. You don’t know what it’ll mean to me. You don’t know how long I’ve been—how long I’ve needed this.”

Your pulse hammered. The air thickened, the lights buzzing above, your body frozen in a cage of choices that weren’t really choices at all. Refuse, and you didn’t know what he’d do. Accept, and maybe — maybe — he’d be calm.

So you leaned forward, your lips brushing his in the briefest ghost of a kiss.

His breath hitched, a broken, euphoric sound. He chased the kiss, pressing back, desperate and clumsy, like he thought you might vanish if he didn’t cling.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his voice ragged.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “I knew you wanted me too.”

You forced a trembling smile, heart clawing against your ribs.

And as Kurt wrapped an arm around you, pulling you against his chest with suffocating tenderness, you realized this was the only way to survive — to give him just enough of what he wanted.

Until you could find a way out.

His POV

It was everything.

The kiss replayed in his mind like a perfect loop, better than any stream, better than any like or follow. It was real.

You kissed him. You loved him. You said it.

His whole body shook as he held you, terrified you might slip away if he loosened his grip even an inch.

“You’ll see,” he whispered against your hair. “You’ll see I’m all you need. And you’ll never want to leave. Not when I can love you this much.”

In his chest, yearning burned hotter than ever.

Because now, he wasn’t imagining anymore.

Now, he had proof.

Chapter Twelve: Our Morning

Your POV

You woke to the sound of humming.

For a moment, your mind tried to stitch the noise into normalcy — a roommate, a kettle, sunlight through a window. But when your eyes opened, the ceiling was still low, strung with dim Christmas lights. The mattress dipped beside you, and Kurt’s off-key humming filled the stale air.

He was crouched over a chipped plate on the floor, carefully arranging toast and scrambled eggs like he was plating for a five-star restaurant. The smell was sulfurous and slightly burnt, but he beamed when he saw you stir.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he said, voice soft and too bright. “I made us breakfast.”

You pushed yourself up slowly, your body stiff, your throat dry. He slid the plate toward you like it was a gift.

Your stomach churned, but you forced a smile. “Thanks, Kurt. That’s… really sweet.”

The way his whole face lit up made the words worth it. He sat cross-legged beside you, waiting for you to take the first bite. You did. The eggs were rubbery, the toast cold, but you chewed and swallowed like it was the best thing you’d ever eaten.

His grin widened. “See? I told you I could take care of you. You don’t need anybody else. Just me.”

Your pulse quickened, but this time you didn’t flinch. You nodded. “Just you.”

The words came easier than last night. Maybe because fighting felt pointless. Maybe because, somewhere in the back of your mind, it was safer — easier — to believe them.

Kurt scooted closer, his knee brushing yours. “I was thinking… we should do something fun today. Like… like a date. We can stay in, watch a movie, cuddle. Doesn’t that sound perfect?”

You hesitated, then whispered, “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

His hand found yours, clammy but gentle, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. “I knew you’d get it. I knew you’d understand. Everyone else, they… they just don’t see me. But you do. You always did.”

And when his head dropped onto your shoulder, when his arm wrapped tight around your waist, you didn’t resist.

You let yourself lean into him — not out of love, not really. But because your body was tired of trembling, and your mind was tired of saying no.

If you were going to survive, you would have to live in his world.

And maybe, if you played the part well enough, you might start to believe it, too.

—

His POV

It was working.

You were softer this morning, less scared. You ate his cooking. You agreed with him. You let him touch you. That meant you were starting to see the truth — that meant the walls around your heart were cracking.

Kurt pressed his face into your shoulder, inhaling like your skin was air.

“This is it,” he murmured. “This is how it’s supposed to be. Just us. Our little life together.”

He could already see it: mornings like this forever, your laughter filling the space, your lips pressed to his whenever he wanted.

And if you slipped, if you faltered, if you doubted again?

He’d remind you.

He’d always remind you.

Because now you weren’t his prisoner.

Now, you were his girlfriend.

Forever.

Chapter Thirteen: Slips and Shadows

Your POV

The day stretched in strange stillness.

Kurt had kept his word — it was a “date.” He dug out an old laptop, propped it on a crate, and pulled you into his lap on the mattress while he scrolled through bootleg movies. His arms wound around your waist, his chin hooked over your shoulder, breath warm against your skin.

At first, you sat stiff, every muscle coiled. But time worked strangely here. With no clocks, no phones, no sky to mark the hours, the sharpness of your fear dulled at the edges.

Halfway through some grainy action flick, you realized you were leaning against him — not resisting, not calculating, just leaning. His chest rose and fell steady behind you. His hand stroked your arm absentmindedly.

For one fragile, terrifying moment, you almost felt… safe.

The thought made your stomach twist. Safe? In this place? With him? You pressed your lips together, swallowing the sudden burn of shame. But the warmth of his body was real, and the quiet around you was real, and you were so, so tired.

When the movie ended, Kurt kissed your temple without asking. You didn’t pull away.

Pt 1

FIVE STARS

KURT KUNKLE X READER FIC

PART 2

You: hey. sorry I’ve been busy. hope you’re doing okay.

You hit send.

Instantly, the typing bubbles appeare…..

Kurt: oh my god. you answered. you actually answered.

Kurt: you have no idea how much this means.

Kurt: I knew it. I knew you weren’t like the others.

Kurt: you’re real. you see me.

You set the phone down, a nervous pit in your stomach. You thought the reply might calm him down. Instead, it lit a fire.

Two days later, you saw him.

Not on your screen. In the flesh.

You’d ducked into the corner store after work, grabbing a bottle of water, when a shadow fell across the aisle. You looked up—and there he was. Kurt. Hoodie pulled up, eyes wide and shining, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

Hey,” he said softly. His voice cracked, breathless. “Hey, it’s… it’s you.”

Your mouth went dry. “Kurt.”

“You remembered my name.” His smile was shaky, almost pained, like he was holding back tears. “God, you don’t know what that does to me.”

You took a step back, clutching the bottle to your chest. “I—I should get going—”

“No, no, wait.” He held up his hands quickly, palms out. His voice dropped to a whisper, tender and frantic all at once. “I don’t wanna scare you. I’d never scare you. I just… had to see you. After you answered me, I—” He laughed weakly, a sound frayed at the edges. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About us.”

Your heart thudded hard against your ribs. “There is no us, Kurt.”

He flinched like you’d struck him. Then he stepped closer, crowding the narrow aisle, his voice a hoarse plea. “Don’t say that. Please don’t. You’re the only one who ever talks to me like I matter. You’re… you’re my green light. Don’t take that away.”

The air felt suffocating. His body blocked the way out, his eyes desperate, glassy with yearning. For a terrifying moment, you thought he might grab you.

But instead, he just whispered, broken and reverent:

“You’re gonna understand one day. I’ll make sure of it. You’ll see why it has to be us.”

And then—just as suddenly—he stepped aside, letting you rush past him and out into the night air, lungs burning, pulse wild.

But even as you hurried down the street, you knew.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

Chapter Five: Always There

You messaged him back that night. Not because you wanted to. Because you were scared.

You: sorry if I seemed harsh earlier. it’s been a stressful week.

You: I don’t think you’re a bad person, Kurt. I just need space sometimes.

The reply came in seconds.

Kurt: no, no, don’t apologize. ur perfect.

Kurt: I get it. u don’t need space from me tho. I can give u peace.

Kurt: ur the only one who’s ever… seen me.

Kurt: I’ll be whatever u need me to be. just don’t leave.

Your stomach twisted as you read the words. But you sent back a small smile emoji anyway, praying it would keep him calm.

From then on, he was everywhere.

At the corner store. On the train platform. Across the street from your apartment. Always watching. Always waiting with that fragile smile that made your skin crawl.

And then he started coming to your work.

The first time, he ordered a coffee like any other customer, lingering at the counter a little too long. His eyes followed you with open adoration as you fumbled through the transaction, cheeks burning under his gaze.

“Thanks,” he whispered, clutching the cup like it was sacred. “You… you make everything better, you know that?”

You forced a weak smile. “Have a good day, Kurt.”

But he didn’t leave. He sat in the corner booth, staring at you between sips, for your entire shift.

—

It became routine. Every other day, sometimes every day, he showed up. He’d sit quietly at first, until someone else spoke to you.

A coworker making you laugh.

A customer leaning a little too close to ask for a refill.

A friend stopping by to walk you home.

That was when the mask slipped.

His jaw would tighten, hands trembling around his cup, eyes narrowing with a feverish jealousy. You tried not to notice, tried to keep your smile in place as you prayed he wouldn’t make a scene.

But one night, as you handed a regular his drink, you felt Kurt’s presence at your shoulder. Too close.

Busy tonight,” he said softly, his voice strained. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “People just… can’t get enough of you, huh?”

Your chest tightened. “They’re just customers, Kurt.”

“I know,” he said quickly. His hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for you but held back. “I know. It’s just… you’re so good to everyone. So… nice.” His gaze darted to the man leaving with his latte, then back to you. “Sometimes I wonder if they even deserve it.”

You swallowed hard, whispering, “Kurt, please—don’t do anything.”

His smile cracked into something raw, trembling. “I wouldn’t. Not if you asked me not to. But if someone hurt you—if someone took you away from me—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I couldn’t let that happen. You get that, right? You understand?”

You nodded quickly, heart racing. “I understand.”

And that seemed to soothe him. His shoulders loosened, his grin snapping back into place.

“Good. Then we’re on the same page.”

He went back to his booth, sipping his coffee like nothing had happened.

But you couldn’t stop shaking.

Because for the first time, you were certain:

If anyone pushed him too far, he would kill.

And the only thing keeping you safe now was playing along.

Chapter Six: Justified

It happened on a Friday night, near the end of your shift.

The café was busy, a steady stream of customers keeping you behind the counter. You were tired, but you smiled anyway as you handed over a drink to a familiar face — one of your regulars. He was harmless, always chatty, and tonight he lingered a moment longer than usual.

“So,” he said, grinning, “you ever get a night off? We should grab a drink sometime.”

Before you could answer, a shadow fell across the counter.

Kurt.

He stood rigid, hands clenched at his sides, his smile stretched too wide, too brittle.

“She’s busy,” he said flatly.

The customer blinked, glancing at him. “Uh… sorry, do I know you?”

Kurt’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “Nah, man, you don’t know me. But I know her. Better than you ever will.” His voice cracked, pitch rising. “You think you can just waltz in here and—what—steal her?”

Your chest went cold. “Kurt—”

But he was already moving.

In a blur, he shoved the man back from the counter, hard enough that he stumbled into a chair with a crash. The café went silent, every eye on them as Kurt loomed, chest heaving, eyes wild.

“She’s not yours!” he shouted. “She’s not some toy you get to play with! She’s mine—she’s always been mine, and you can’t take her away from me!”

The customer scrambled to his feet, backing away with hands raised. “Dude, you’re crazy.”

“Crazy?” Kurt barked a laugh, manic and sharp. “No. No, I’m the only sane one here! Everyone else—fake, empty, garbage—but her? She’s real. And I protect what’s real. I protect her.”

He lunged a step closer, and the man bolted out the door, the bell jangling wildly in his wake.

The room was frozen. People whispered, phones raised, recording. But Kurt only turned back to you, chest still heaving, a desperate light in his eyes.

“You saw that, right?” he panted. “You saw what he was doing. He was trying to take you from me. I couldn’t let that happen. You understand. You get it, don’t you?”

Your heart thundered in your chest. His intensity pinned you in place, suffocating, dangerous. You knew—if you disagreed, if you told him the truth—his rage would turn on you.

So you forced a shaky nod. “I… I get it, Kurt.”

Relief flooded his face, almost childlike. His trembling hands smoothed down his hoodie as his grin snapped back into place. “Yeah. Yeah, I knew you would. You always understand me.”

He leaned across the counter, lowering his voice to a fervent whisper only you could hear.

“You’re mine. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if you hate me for it.”

The weight of his words sank into your chest like a stone.

Because you realized now, with terrifying clarity:

There was no escaping him.

Kurt had decided.

And Kurt would never let you go.

Chapter Seven: Closing In

The world around you began to feel smaller.

It wasn’t sudden. Kurt was patient, calculating. But each day, his presence pressed tighter against your life, like a weight you couldn’t shrug off.

He lingered at work, quietly intimidating customers he deemed too friendly. A coworker leaned a little too close, complimented your smile too openly? He’d be there in a booth, sipping coffee, eyes locked on you, smile stretched just enough to unsettle. The coworker would excuse themselves, flush of unease on their face.

He followed you on the streets, always a few steps behind, invisible until your nerves tightened and you spotted the same white sedan idling across intersections or parked near your apartment. Sometimes you caught a glimpse of him—hood up, phone in hand, recording or watching.

Your friends stopped calling.

“Hey, wanna grab drinks?” one texted. You hesitated, glanced over your shoulder at the street below your apartment. You could almost feel Kurt’s eyes even indoors. You didn’t respond.

Calls went unanswered, messages ignored, slowly replaced with polite excuses. You told yourself it was fine, that it was your choice. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t just your choice anymore.

And Kurt’s messages never stopped.

Kurt: saw you leaving work today. you smiled at that guy.

Kurt: don’t worry. I know it was nothing.

Kurt: but they’re not me. they never will be.

Kurt: only I get to see you like that. only I get to be with you.

When you responded—shy, polite, careful—he softened, but only just enough to make you believe you weren’t trapped.

“Good girl,” he typed once. “I knew you’d understand. You always do.”

Evenings became the hardest. You couldn’t leave your apartment without imagining him waiting somewhere, watching. Every laugh outside, every glance someone gave you, set your chest racing.

At work, the tension was unbearable. A customer who asked your name? A friend who hugged you hello? Kurt’s reactions were subtle, terrifying: the way he would appear moments later, leaning casually near your counter, jaw tight, eyes glittering with a feverish protectiveness.

You felt yourself shrinking. Your life condensed to routines: work, home, brief pauses online. People faded away, replaced by his omnipresent gaze.

And yet, you kept messaging him online. Carefully. Shyly. Because if you didn’t… you feared what would happen if he felt ignored, rejected.

His obsession suffocated you.

And the worst part? He convinced you it was love.

A love so dangerous, so inescapable, that each day you wondered if the only way to survive it was to play along completely.

Because you knew one thing with terrifying clarity:

If you failed him, even once… it wouldn’t be him who suffered.

It would be you.

Chapter Eight: No One Else

It happened on the quietest of nights.

The café was nearly empty. You were wiping down the counter when a customer walked in — a teenager, barely old enough for coffee. He fumbled with his wallet, apologized for taking too long, and you gave him a small, patient smile to ease his nerves.

That was all it took.

The smile.

When the boy left, you turned to see Kurt already at the end of the counter. His coffee sat untouched in front of him, his hands twitching against the cup lid. His smile was carved too sharp, his eyes wet and gleaming with fury.

“You did it again.” His voice was soft, trembling.

You froze. “Did what?”

“That smile.” His laugh cracked, bitter. “You gave it to him. Just like that. Like it meant nothing.”

You swallowed. “Kurt, he was just a kid—”

“Don’t.” His voice snapped like a whip, making your chest jolt. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t tell me it’s nothing. I see you. I see how you look at people. How they take from you.” His hands slammed the counter suddenly, rattling the mugs stacked there. Customers looked up nervously.

“You’re mine,” he hissed, leaning closer, breath ragged. “You said you understood. You said you got it. So why—why do you keep giving pieces of yourself to people who don’t deserve it?”

Your throat went dry. He was unraveling in front of you, right there in the dim café glow, and you felt the trap closing around you.

“Kurt,” you whispered, careful, measured, “I didn’t mean anything by it. I promise.”

But he was past reasoning. His face twisted, pain and obsession colliding in his expression. “If I can’t have you… then no one can.”

The words landed like a knife. Final. Unyielding.

Your pulse thundered. You saw it then — the edge he’d been teetering on for weeks. The raw, hungry void in his eyes. If you disagreed, if you fought him, that void would swallow you whole

So you nodded, hands trembling. “You’re right, Kurt. You’re the only one. The only one I want.”

For a moment, silence. Then his entire body seemed to sag with relief. A strangled laugh escaped his throat, half sob, half joy.

I knew it.” He reached across the counter, fingers brushing yours, cold and clammy. “I knew you’d come around. You just… needed time. But it’s okay. You get it now. You see me.”

Your smile was shaky, brittle. “I see you.”

And with those words, you sealed your fate.

Because Kurt believed you.

And in his mind, that meant you were already his.

Forever.

What had you started….

KURT KUNKLE X READER FIC

The car pulled up with a sharp stop, the glowing “Spree” decal flickering on its roof. You tugged your jacket tighter around yourself as you slid into the backseat, tossing a polite smile toward the driver.

“Heyyy! What’s up, I’m Kurt,” he said immediately, twisting in his seat so you were hit with the full force of his grin. It was too wide, too eager, but you tried not to flinch. His phone was mounted on the dash, angled toward him. The little red recording light blinked.

“Hi,” you said, buckling in. “Um… this is going to 1302 Valerie St?”

Yup, you got it.” He gave a little thumbs up, pulling out into traffic. “Thanks for choosing Spree today. Seriously—huge deal. If you don’t hate me, gimme a five-star? Please?” His laugh was nervous, but he kept glancing at you in the rearview like he was making sure you were still there.

You chuckled politely, already tugging out your phone. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

Kurt’s eyes flicked to your screen, then back to the road. “Sooo, what’s your day been like? Anything exciting? Wait—no, hold up—lemme guess.” He tapped the steering wheel like he was psyching himself up. “Work? School? Or are you, like, one of those people who just has a crazy fun life all the time?”

You smiled faintly. “Just work. Long shift.”

His grin widened, almost relieved. “Oh, totally get it. Work is… ugh, right? But, uh—what do you do? Like… I really wanna know.” His tone was oddly urgent, like he was begging you not to brush him off.

You hesitated. Normally, you kept details vague with rideshare drivers. But something about the way his expectant eyes kept flicking up in the mirror made you feel guilty for holding back.

“I’m a barista,” you offered finally. “At the coffee shop down on Main.”

Kurt let out a little laugh—too loud, too forced. “No way! That’s… that’s so cool. Do you, like, love it? Hate it? Tell me everything. C’mon, I’m all ears.”

You shifted, surprised by his insistence. “It’s fine. Busy in the mornings, kind of exhausting, but… you meet a lot of people. It’s steady.”

“Yeah, yeah, people!” His grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles pale. “You must see all kinds of them, right? Like—fake people, real people… bet you can tell the difference, huh?”

You blinked at the intensity in his tone. “I guess so?”

He laughed again, high and awkward. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just saying—you seem… I dunno. Real. Not fake. That’s… rare.” His eyes lingered in the mirror too long before darting back to the road.

You shifted in your seat. Red flag, your brain whispered. But he seemed harmless, if a little overeager. Probably just lonely.

Trying to soften the silence, you asked, “So, do you drive full-time?”

“Oh! Yeah. I mean, kind of. But I also… stream,” he said quickly, gesturing toward his phone on the dash. “I go live all the time. Building my audience, you know? Gotta get that reach.” His voice cracked slightly with the desperation under his forced cheer. “Hey—what about you? You online? You got, like, Insta, TikTok, whatever?”

Your hesitation must’ve shown, because he added quickly, “I mean—I could follow you. Follow-for-follow? Boost each other’s numbers, y’know?”

You gave a small laugh, trying to brush it off kindly. “Oh, I don’t really post much.”

“That’s fine! That’s fine.” He nodded rapidly, eyes flicking back to you. “Just… think about it, okay? I’ll, uh—I’ll drop you my handle. No pressure.”

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with things unsaid. He kept sneaking glances, practically vibrating in his seat, like he wanted to keep you talking forever. And though something about his persistence made the hairs on your arms prickle, you swallowed the unease. He was just a stranger. This ride would be over in a few minutes.

When he pulled up to your stop, you reached for the handle. “Thanks.”

Wait—” His voice cracked, too sharp. You froze, half turned toward him. His smile reappeared instantly, stretched thin. “Sorry, I just meant—uh, thanks. For talking to me. You’re… like, really cool. I hope I see you again.”

You forced a smile. “Yeah. Take care.”

You shut the door, walking quickly toward your building. Behind you, Kurt’s eyes stayed locked on your retreating figure, his grin faltering into something raw, something starved.

Chapter Two: Follow Back

You didn’t think much about the driver after that night. At least, not at first. You left a polite five-star rating out of habit, then forgot about him as the days bled together—work, sleep, repeat.

But two mornings later, while scrolling through your phone on break, you noticed a new follower request.

@KurtsWorld96

The profile picture was him, holding up a peace sign with an exaggerated grin. You almost laughed. He’d actually followed through with his “follow-for-follow” comment.

You considered ignoring it. But guilt pressed at you—he’d been harmless enough, and he had gone out of his way to be friendly. With a shrug, you hit accept.

The flood began instantly.

like on your most recent post. Then another. And another. By the time your shift ended, he had liked nearly every photo you’d posted in the last two years.

Then came the comments.

omg this is such a good shot. you’re really photogenic.”

“wow. you’re like… glowing here.”

“can we collab sometime?? lol”

You tried to laugh it off, telling yourself he was just… enthusiastic. But when the notifications buzzed again that night, it was him, livestreaming.

His face filled the screen—same strained smile, same jittery energy.

Yo, guys, what’s up, welcome back to Kurt’s World!” His voice was too loud, too eager. “Okay, okay, I gotta shout out someone amazing real quick. There’s this girl, right? Super real, not fake at all—like, finally someone who gets it. You know how rare that is? So rare. Anyway, she’s awesome, and she, uh, she followed me back.”

Your chest tightened. Surely he didn’t mean—

“Don’t worry, I’m not dropping her @ or anything.” His grin tilted crooked. “She knows who she is. She’s watching. I can feel it.”

Your stomach flipped.

You turned off the stream.

But the next morning, your DMs were waiting.

Kurt: hey!!!

Kurt: thx for the follow back, seriously means a lot

Kurt: so like what are you doing today??

Kurt: we should collab, I think ppl would love u

Kurt: hello??

The messages stacked over the hours, each one a little more insistent.

By evening, the tone shifted:

Kurt: did I do something wrong??

Kurt: ur ignoring me. why?

Kurt: I thought we had a connection.

Kurt: ur real. I know it.

You set your phone down, heart hammering. A creeping dread settled in your chest, cold and suffocating.

Maybe you should’ve ignored the follow request.

Maybe you should’ve listened to that little voice whispering red flag in the backseat of his car.

But now—it was too late.

Kurt knew your name.

Kurt had your face, your posts, your location tags.

And Kurt wasn’t going away.

Chapter Three: Coincidences

You told yourself you were overreacting.

People spam likes all the time. Streamers thrive on oversharing, on shouting into the void for attention. His DMs—dozens of them by now—were probably just loneliness spilling into your inbox. You muted the notifications and tried to get on with your life.

But Kurt didn’t stay behind the screen.

He bled into your days.

It started small. You noticed his car—or at least, one that looked like it—in the grocery store parking lot. White sedan, Spree decal, tinted windows. You brushed it off. There were hundreds of cars like that in the city.

Then, a few nights later, you went out with a friend for dinner. When you stepped outside afterward, your stomach dropped. Parked across the street was the same white sedan. The dash light glowed faintly, like someone sitting inside with the engine off.

Your friend chattered beside you, oblivious. You forced yourself to keep walking, keep laughing, even as goosebumps prickled your arms.

At home, you opened Instagram out of habit. The first story at the top of your feed was Kurt’s.

A blurry shot of neon lights. A restaurant sign. A caption scrawled over the top:

“crazy how ppl never know when they’re being seen.”

You froze, thumb hovering over the screen. The photo—it was the same block as the restaurant you’d just left.

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

You slammed your phone face down on the table.

The next morning, more DMs waited.

Kurt: saw you out last night, lol small world right??

Kurt: I didn’t wanna bug you tho. didn’t wanna scare you.

Kurt: you looked… really happy.

Kurt: I like when you smile like that.

The words read like a taunt.

By the end of the week, he had escalated further. Photos in his story that matched places you’d tagged a day before. A blurry shot of a coffee cup, your shop’s logo unmistakable. A caption underneath:

“you never even notice me, but I notice you.”

You started taking different routes to work. Watching the shadows of passing cars, checking over your shoulder when you left the store at night. Your coworkers teased you for being jumpy, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on you.

Sometimes you told yourself you were imagining it. That paranoia was twisting coincidences into something darker.

But then came the DM that made your blood run cold:

Kurt: don’t worry.

Kurt: I’d never hurt you.

Kurt: I just need you to see me.

Chapter Four: Green Light

You didn’t mean to answer him.

For days, his messages stacked up in your inbox—compliments, confessions, long streams of texts that read like diary entries. You muted them, ignored them, told yourself silence was safer.

But then one night, after a long shift and a couple glasses of cheap wine, the guilt broke you down.

You opened his latest message:

Kurt: just wish you’d talk to me. one word. that’s all I need.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Before you could second-guess yourself, you typed:

You: hey. sorry I’ve been busy. hope you’re doing okay.

You hit send.

Instantly, the typing bubbles appear…..