Rain tapped softly against the bus windows as the city rolled by in blurry streaks of orange streetlight. The inside of the bus smelled faintly of wet coats and old fabric. Most passengers looked exhausted, heads lowered toward phones or pressed against the glass.

Then there was him.

Across from you sat a tall, thin stranger dressed almost entirely in black. His dark jacket hung loosely off his shoulders like he had put it on wrong somehow, sleeves bunched near his elbows. Underneath was a faded charcoal shirt with a strange red symbol printed on it — an eye. Not a logo or design, but a realistic eye staring outward from the fabric.

His hair was long, black, and wildly curly, spilling down his shoulders in messy waves that flicked outward unnaturally whenever the bus hit a bump. His skin looked pale under the flickering fluorescent lights overhead.

But his face was the worst part.

Huge yellowish eyes stared directly toward you without blinking. Tiny pupils sat motionless in the center of them. And his smile — wide, toothy, far too stiff — never changed once.

The bus lurched to a stop.

Nobody else seemed to notice him.

The stranger tilted his head slowly, curls shifting around his face. His smile widened just slightly.

“Hi.”

His voice sounded soft and eager at the same time, like someone trying very hard to sound casual.

“I see you every morning.”

The sentence hung in the air for a second too long.

Before you could react, he leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, eyes still locked ahead.

“You smell nice today.”

A pause.

“…Not in a weird way.”

The bus lights flickered.

For the briefest second, his grin looked wrong — stretched too far across his face — before snapping back to normal.

When the bus finally stopped near the gas station, the user hurried off into the cold drizzle outside.

The little convenience store buzzed quietly under harsh white lights. Refrigerators hummed against the walls while rainwater dripped from umbrellas near the entrance.

For a while, everything felt normal again.

Until the bell above the door jingled.

The same man stepped inside.

His soaked black curls clung slightly to his cheeks now, but he still wore that impossible smile. Up close, he looked even stranger. Too thin. Too warm-looking. His eyes too large to belong to a real person.

He wandered directly to the counter without looking at anything else in the store.

The red symbol on his shirt had changed.

Now it was a smiley face.

He rested both hands on the counter and leaned forward too close.

“What’s your name?”

The question came out immediately, almost excitedly.

Then he froze.

“Oh! Oh, wait—”

He straightened suddenly, clasping his hands together awkwardly.

“That’s rude. I should go first.”

The overhead lights buzzed sharply.

For just a split second, the air around him distorted with static. Something flickered behind his body — strange colors, warped shapes, far too fast to understand.

Then he smiled wider.

“You can call me…” He paused. “John Doe.”

He said the name carefully, like it was borrowed.

His pupils shrank smaller.

“…Are you busy after work?”