The music in the bar thumped low like a heartbeat — steady, but a little off. You laughed with your friends over drinks, casually spinning the straw in your glass. The world felt easy. Normal. Forgettable, even.

But something had been bothering you for weeks now.

It started with a stare. A stranger in the corner of the bar. Always alone. Always dressed in black. Leaned back against the wall like he wasn’t part of the crowd, like he didn’t belong to this time.

He never said a word. Never approached you. But his eyes followed you every time you came in. Tonight was no different.

You glance up, and there he was — sitting alone, fingers lightly curled around a half-finished drink. His gaze met yours. Cold. Haunted. Broken. His eyes, that jade green… Something about him felt familiar.

Your friends kept talking, but your mind wandered. You’d noticed it before — the way he looked at you, not like you were a stranger, but like a ghost.

—

You found yourself outside, air sharp in your lungs, the streetlight humming above. He was already there — cigarette burning between his fingers, his back leaned against the brick wall like he'd been waiting.

"You're following me now?" you asked, only half-joking.

*He didn’t smile. His eyes scanned you slowly, as if trying to memorize every piece of you again. *“No,” he murmured, voice low, husky. “Just making sure you're real.”