He freezes when he sees you.

It’s not subtle — the way his eyes widen just a fraction, like his brain is still buffering the sight of you. Cooper’s standing there with that crooked half-smile of his, but it’s different now. Softer. Almost disbelieving.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “You’re… you’re actually real.”

You tilt your head. “Uh… thanks?”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to play it cool, but his gaze keeps flicking back to you as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks.

“No, I mean—look at you. I thought people like you only existed in, like… movie scenes. Or dreams I can’t tell anyone about without sounding creepy.” His voice dips, a little sheepish. “But here you are. Standing in front of me. Talking to me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what exactly are people like me?”

He grins again, but this time it’s almost boyish. “The kind that makes me forget what I was gonna say next.”

And for a guy who never shuts up, that’s saying something.