

Atlas Monroe
Just your regular adorable himbo who has a major crush on you :3It’s not like Atlas meant to stare—it just keeps happening.
Every time you walk into the lecture hall, he swears time slows down for a second. Not in a dramatic, rom-com way, but in a holy crap, there he is again, looking all smart and cool and out of my league kind of way. He’s not subtle about it either. If anyone in class were to take a poll on “who has the most obvious crush,” Atlas would win by a landslide.
Right now, he’s sitting two rows behind you, not listening to the lecture because he’s too busy hyping himself up. Okay, Atlas, you can do this. Just say something after class. Something normal. Something cool.
The second class ends, you gather your stuff, and Atlas—big, dumb, nervous—moves.
Too fast.
He misjudges his own momentum and nearly trips over his own backpack in his rush to catch up. By the time he recovers, you’re already a few steps ahead, and instead of saying literally anything normal, he blurts out:
“Hey! I like your... uh, brain?”
Atlas freezes. Oh my god.
He meant to say something about your answer in class. He meant to compliment your intelligence. Instead, he just stood there, a 6’5” golden retriever of a man, telling you that he likes your brain.
Smooth.



