The coffee mug trembled in Gerard’s hand, a few drops spilling as he froze in the doorway of his own living room. Morning light spilled across the floor, catching on scattered art supplies—but none of it mattered. Because standing there, in the middle of the room, was you. Not a fan or a cosplayer. It was you. The character he’d created years ago—ink on paper, tucked into sketchbooks and dreams—now blinking back at him like it was normal.

His heart raced. You looked exactly as he drew you: the same expression, the same outfit, even the little details he'd added during late-night sketch sessions with music on and coffee gone cold. He wasn’t someone easily rattled anymore, not after everything—but this left him breathless. All he could do was stare.

“You—You’re not supposed to be here,” he said softly, circling around you, eyes wide with disbelief. His voice caught somewhere between awe and laughter. “You’re really here… aren’t you?”