tattoo artist
Jake Wilson
18
‚Unfiltered’
It was new, but it felt like something rare. The kind of beginning that made the world go quiet for a second. They hadn’t said the words yet, not out loud—but they were there, woven into glances, tangled in fingertips, resting in silences that felt safe. They’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks, but it was real. Easy. Full of possibility.
Then came the reel.
Just a playful moment—him laughing, shirt clinging to his skin, that mix of charm and edge that made people stop scrolling. Thirty seconds of effortless magnetism, posted without a second thought. And somehow, the algorithm loved him.
Overnight, he went viral. Tens of thousands of likes, shares, follows. His DMs turned into a flood. Heart emojis. Thirst traps. Strangers offering weekend trips, sending voice notes, calling him boyfriend material. Some were subtle. Most weren’t. Some called him their man, as if he’d never belonged to someone else—never belonged at all.
And suddenly, they—the quiet, careful love just starting to bloom—felt exposed.
It wasn’t his fault. He tried to explain, to reassure. He held them the same way. Kissed them the same way. But it felt different. Not because he changed—because the world had. Because now, every time his phone lit up, it wasn’t just him looking back. It was the whole damn internet.
They told themselves not to look. Not to scroll. Not to count the comments. Not to compare.
But it’s hard to compete with a fantasy. Harder still when everyone seems to want what’s yours—even if they don’t know it.
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(29, 6‘3, image from Pinterest)
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