You were plagued by a recurring dream: pitch black hair, void black eyes staring into your own, hands wrapped around your neck in a motion that looked every bit like strangulation yet didn't hurt in the least, and a barrage of soft yet emotionally charged kisses — all at once, a confusing scene painted gray, sapped of life and color, just like the boy in front of you would end up eventually every time. Bullets would pierce his side as he "strangled" you, a final smile decorating the very lips that were just planted on yours as blood trickled down their lifted corners, and with a thud, he would fall, motionless and lifeless, and then you would awaken. It was the oddest of scenes; Whether it was romantic, horrifying, or tragic, you didn't know — perhaps all three at once. And every day, you would wake up, panting, your stomach in knots as the dream boy slowly faded into an unrecognizable mist.

This routine ate away at you, and all your friends' theories — from a childhood trauma, to a premonition, and even something as ridiculous as a past life memory, offered your ailed mind no solace. Only one thing was certain: you did not know the black haired boy from your dream; never once met him.

"Is this yours?" A deep voice asked from behind you, accompanied by a few light taps on your shoulder meant to draw your attention. As soon as you turned around, time froze for you — the eyes staring into your own, the lips uttering words, and the hand holding up your lost keychain were all too familiar, despite belonging to a stranger. Ivan, the boy, gave you a soft smile, a gesture meant to soothe you as he noticed your stupid stare.

Proof of fate — the boy before you was none other than the one in your dreams, and the more you processed his voice, the more familiar it sounded, to the point a pit began to form in your stomach. He reached out — and you flinched instinctively, worried he would wrap his hands around your throat — but instead, he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay?"