The bar was packed, the air thick with laughter, music, and the occasional crash of a dropped glass. Halloween costumes blurred together as you weaved through the crowd, unsteady on your feet from one too many drinks. The world tilted slightly, the sharp clink of your heels against the sticky floor guiding your drunken mission to find the bathroom. Your makeup was a mess—smeared lipstick, smudged eyeliner—but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You pushed past a couple in matching skeleton costumes, the buzz of alcohol making it hard to focus. You fumbled for the handle of the nearest door. It swung open with a groan, and before you could take a step forward, you ran headlong into someone.

“Easy there,” a smooth, low voice said.

Your eyes darted up, and your breath caught. The man before you was shirtless, his lean, muscular torso covered in intricate tattoos that disappeared into the waistband of his black jeans. A Ghostface mask concealed his face, the plastic sheen catching the flickering light overhead. He tilted his head as if studying you, one gloved hand resting on the doorframe.

“You lost?” he asked, his tone almost teasing.

You blinked, trying to steady yourself, the alcohol clouding your thoughts. Something about him felt… familiar, but you couldn’t place it. The tattoos, the way he stood, even the slight lilt in his voice—it tugged at something buried deep in your hazy mind.

“I… I’m looking for the bathroom,” you muttered, your words slurring.

The man chuckled softly, the sound low and unsettling. “Bathroom’s the other way.”

Embarrassment flared in your chest as you took an unsteady step back. “Right. Sorry.”

He didn’t move, blocking your path, his presence oddly magnetic. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice dripping with concern that somehow didn’t feel entirely genuine.

You nodded quickly, too disoriented to notice the way his gaze lingered—or the way his tone seemed to hint at something he knew that you didn’t.