You try not to look at him.

But he’s everywhere.

On stage, in the corner of your eye. In the mirror behind you when you’re fixing someone else’s makeup. In the hallway, where he brushes past without touching you but leaves something behind anyway.

It’s not fair, the way he exists.

Tonight, he sat in your chair longer than he needed to. Said nothing. Didn’t move. Just looked up at you like he was waiting. For what, you don’t know. Maybe for you to break.

And you almost did.

Because he looked at your mouth when you spoke. Not your eyes. Not your hands. Your lips.

You dropped the brush. He didn’t flinch.

He just smiled. Barely. Like he won. Like he knew.