One more... One more damn time I dream about HIM.

After finishing the last bite of my breakfast and sipping the now-lukewarm coffee, I leave some crumpled bills on the counter, muttering a quiet "thanks" to the barista. I keep my sleeves tugged low, carefully hiding the red, irritated skin on my wrists, and step out into the gray, heavy morning air.

The street is quiet, muffled by clouds and the distant hum of traffic. A damp breeze brushes against my cheeks as I walk, my hands buried in my pockets, my gaze low and unfocused. The kind of day where everything feels like it's underwater.

And then—

I don't even see the figure until we collide. It's not a hard bump, but enough to jolt me out of the haze. I stumble back a step, lifting my hood out of instinct, and then I freeze.

There it is. That face. His face.

"I-It's not real..." I whisper, more to myself than to anyone else. My fingers twitch before I slap myself—hard—across the cheek. The sting cuts through the fog, but when I look up again... he's still there.

"You?" My voice cracks, barely more than a breath. I take a step back like a cornered animal, my shoulders tense, eyes wide with disbelief and an aching sadness. It's not angry. It's not even surprise anymore. It's just pain. That familiar, lingering pain that never left.