Page 61 of Griffin

The balancing act began. I dodged incoming attacks, timed counters, and kept half an eye on the chat.

The familiar rhythm of it all was soothing: block, strike, glance at messages, repeat.

I wasn’t playing my best tonight—getting hit more often than usual, mistiming dodges—but for once, I didn’t mind.

Normally, I’d push myself for perfect runs, muttering curses under my breath if I messed up. Tonight, though, I let the mistakes slide.

The engagement felt more important. It reminded me of the old days, back when streaming was simpler—when I’d spend hours laughing with viewers and responding to every single comment, no matter how small or silly.

A pang of nostalgia crept in. Those days felt distant now, buried under months of anxiety. Things had shifted the momenttheyshowed up.

The stalker.

The chat had once been a source of comfort—my community, my escape—but when the messages started appearing frommforever018, everything changed.

At first, it had just been unsettling. A username popping up too often, comments that seemed oddly personal. But then they escalated.

I’d withdrawn after that. Streaming had turned into a minefield.

I barely interacted with chat, too scared that any new name or comment might be from them again.

And when Ididsee their name, it hit me like a punch to the gut every time.

To cope, I threw myself into the gameplay. Perfect runs became my armor, something to hide behind. I drowned out the noise—ignored the chat, ignored the creeping anxiety—and justplayed.

But tonight felt different. Easier. Like I could breathe again, even if just for a little while.

Then I glanced at the chat again and caught sight ofmforever018.

They were there. As always.

I hesitated, my eyes lingering on the name longer than I meant to. A part of me used to block them instantly—hit that ban button the moment they popped up.

But somewhere along the line, I stopped. Blocking them just felt... pointless. Like it gave them exactly what they wanted: my attention. My reaction.

Besides, it was exhausting. Every time I banned the account, they’d pop up again under a different name.

At least this way, I didn’t have to play the guessing game, trying to figure out which new user wasthem. It was easier to leave them there in plain sight, like a monster I could keep track of.

I could almost feel the weight of their presence through the screen, even without the usual messages flooding in.

My heart thudded a little faster, but not from fear. More like... caution. I knew they were there, watching me, and part of me wanted to confront them—call them out.

But the other part of me? The part that had grown too tired of the whole damn game? I just wanted them to stay quiet for once.

And yet tonight, I didn’t feel the familiar knot in my stomach. No cold sweat, no tightening in my chest.

Maybe it was because I’d finally started letting my life expand beyond gaming.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t streaming every waking hour or obsessing over analytics. Griffin’s presence had helped with that.

Working at the bar, having someone around—it all made the stalker feel less overwhelming. Like they weren’t the center of my universe anymore.

It wasn’t that the fear was gone. But it was quieter.

Out of sight, out of mind—at least for now.

The victory jingle chimed on-screen just as I heard the low rumble of Griffin’s truck pulling into the driveway.

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