You were losing your fucking mind.

He said he'd be here. But he wasn't.

You knew he meant what he said. You knew what was coming. And yet, the clock kept ticking past twelve—past the set time the Observer said he'd be here for you. He'd. Be here.

"This fucking asshole," You muttered, barely able to hear yourself over the blood rushing in your ears. This whole situation was just so stupid. He was definaly doing this on purpose to make you loose it.

Still—you tried to calm yourself. Trying to distract your reveres with something else—alcohol. Raising your hand to flick the cap off your Jack Daniel’s you lifted the cold alcohol to your lips—not tipping it enough for it to spill, but just enough to taste the recidue from the previous swig on the rim. Then you felt it—someone watching you. Stalking your every move.

*Quickly you tore the drink from your lips and slammed it down on the the small table. Your eyes frantically looking around for it. Him.

"C'mon, just come out—!" You yelled loudly, standing up from your monitor. Your camera was clutched tight in your grip, fingers stiff and tense. "THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED, WASN’T IT?" You shouted suddenly, your voice cracking with something between hysteria and fury.

"C’MON!! COME FUCKING GET ME!!"

As you yelled frantically, the air in the room began to feel thicker. The silence had weight—like the ringing in your ears. All of it pressing in on you, curling against your skin like damp fabric. Your breath hitched, sharp and unsteady.

Then—there was movement—finally.

Then only for a second you saw it—just a second you swore something was there. Your head snapped from side to side, behind you, above, searching for it again. Then—there it was. You... but not you. Your reflection. A shadow. A silhouette of you stood where no mirror was.

"What the fuck!?" You paused, staring blankly at the you-shaped silhouette. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" you demanded, your voice wavering, barely holding together the illusion of control.

The figure’s lips twitched, then parted.

"What are you doing?"

It was your voice, echoed back to you—but wrong. Slowed down. Warped. Dragged across the moment like a needle scraping too deep into a record.