I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror long after the voice had faded, searching for any trace of the shadowy figure or the unfamiliar, confident smirk that had been there moments before. Both were gone, but their ghostly impression remained, a haunting afterimage.
The face looking back was mine, yet the person behind the eyes felt like a stranger, one who didn't flinch or hesitate, the kind of man who got what he wanted with a simple command. A chilling thought settled in my mind; perhaps it wasn't a hallucination at all, but a glimpse of who I was always meant to be, unlocked by a whisper in the dark.
I shook my head to dispel the unnerving train of thought, and left the bathroom. The apartment was quiet, the only sound the low murmur of a video playing from a phone.
For once, Jean wasn't hosting a party or entangled with company. He was sprawled on the couch, shirtless, the blue light of the screen flickering across his bored expression as he scrolled. "Rough day?" he asked, not bothering to look up from his phone.
"Something like that," I muttered, moving to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. He finally turned his head, his eyes scanning me with a lazy interest. A slow smirk spread across his face. "You look different, bro. Got laid or something?"
The glass stilled halfway to my lips. "What?" He chuckled, a low, grating sound. "Relax, man. You just… I don't know. You look less miserable than usual. Shoulders aren't all hunched up"
"Did you finally grow a pair?" He said it like it was a joke, but his gaze was analytical, as if he were a scientist noting a sudden, unexpected mutation in a familiar specimen.
I didn't answer, choosing to sip my water instead and study him over the rim of the glass. Jean, the king of this shabby domain, always so carefree and arrogant, with a magnetic pull that drew people into his orbit without effort.
He was the complete opposite of everything I had been. But as I watched him, the thought ignited in my mind with the clarity of a lightning strike; I don't have to be the opposite anymore. I don't have to stay here forever.
The next day at work, the world seemed to have shifted into higher definition. Colors were brighter, sounds more distinct, and my own body felt like a finely tuned instrument.
My focus was a laser, my walk carried a new confidence, and the air itself seemed to part for me. Mark noticed the change instantly, his radar for social dynamics pinging immediately.
"Well, well," he said, leaning against my cubicle wall as I sat down. "Someone get promoted in his sleep? You're walking like you own the place."
I looked up, meeting his gaze without the usual urge to look away. "Not yet," I replied, a faint, knowing smile touching my lips.
A moment later, Hazel passed by my desk, a soft breeze of lavender and vanilla trailing in her wake. "Good morning, Luke," she said, her smile easy and authentic, lighting up her features. In the past, that simple greeting would have short circuited my brain, leaving me stammering and and my heart would start racing.
But today, it simply warmed me, solidifying a quiet determination to see that smile again somewhere far from the office lights and the humming computers. From the periphery of my vision, I noticed Anna standing near her office door, her sharp eyes briefly flicking between Hazel and me, her expression unreadable before she turned and disappeared inside.
When the lunch hour ended and the office settled back into its afternoon rhythm, I found my moment. I caught Hazel just as she was approaching the bank of elevators, her hand poised to press the call button.
My heart was pounding against my ribs, a sign of the old me, but my mind was a placid, steady lake. "Hey, Hazel," I said, my voice calm. "I was thinking… since the week's almost over, maybe we could go for that drink tonight? After work?"
She blinked, a flicker of pleasant surprise crossing her face, before her expression melted into another warm smile. "Sure," she said, her tone light and charming. "Why not?" She seemed really excited, and as she stepped into the elevator, the doors closing between us, the reality of it hit me.
It was all so smooth, so effortless. It felt less like a social victory and more like I had discovered a cheat code for human interaction, bypassing all the usual anxiety and uncertainty.
---
The bar we found was cozy and modest, a welcome refuge from the city's glare, Dim, golden lights cast long shadows across worn wooden tables, and the soft, melancholic notes of a jazz saxophone wove through the warm air, thick with the scent of aged whiskey and the damp, clean smell of a recent rain.
Hazel looked captivating outside the confines of the office, her hair falling freely around her shoulders, her eyes sparkling in the intimate gloom, brighter and more alive than I had ever seen them.
"So, what's the real story behind Luke?" she asked, tracing the rim of her glass with a finger. "The version that doesn't involve filing reports."
I chuckled, the sound feeling less foreign now. "There's not much to tell. I'm pretty much what you see."
"I doubt that," she said, her eyes holding mine. "Nobody is just what they seem at the office. For instance, I spend my Saturdays covered in charcoal dust."
"Charcoal dust?" I muttered "Mhm," she nodded, a proud, shy smile playing on her lips. "I sketch. It's my secret vice. I'll wander down alleys most people avoid, just to draw a fire escape tangled in ivy or the way the light hits a cracked windowpane. There's something… honest about the parts of the city that are falling apart a little. They have more stories."
I was captivated, not just by her words, but by the passion that animated her face. "That's incredible. I just see… crumbling brickwork."
"You're not looking closely enough, then," she teased softly. "You have to learn to see the beauty in the broken things. What about you? What does Luke do when he's not being a 'glorified spreadsheet jockey'?" She used Mark's phrase with a playful wince, and we both laughed.
The laughter loosened something in me. "I used to build model ships with my grandfather," I found myself saying. The memory surfaced, clear and warm. "Tiny, ridiculous things with a thousand little pieces. I wasn't any good at it, but I loved the silence of it, the focus. It was the only time my brain ever felt quiet."
Her expression softened. "What happened?"
"Life, I guess. He passed. I grew up. It felt too childish to keep doing." I shrugged, the old loss a faint ache.
"It doesn't sound childish," she said, her voice sincere. "It sounds peaceful. We all need a little of that." She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Okay, my turn for a real confession. I am completely terrified of pigeons."
I burst out laughing. "Pigeons? The flying rats?" "Don't laugh!" she protested, but she was grinning. "They're… unpredictable! And the way they just materialize out of nowhere in a flock? It's unsettling. I'll cross the street to avoid a group of them."
"Noted," I said, my own smile feeling wide and easy. "I'll be sure to protect you from any rogue city birds."
The conversation flowed like that, a gentle, meandering river. We talked about the worst jobs we'd ever had, hers was a week at a call center, mine was three miserable days sorting mail in a basement, and the books that had made us cry.
"You know," she said later, her expression growing thoughtful as she swirled the last of her drink. "You're not at all what I expected."
"Oh?" I replied, leaning in, drawn by the intimacy of the moment. "And what did you expect?"
"I suppose I thought you were just… very quiet. The kind of guy who prefers to avoid everyone," she admitted softly, her gaze focused down for a second before meeting mine again. "But you're a good listener. And you're funny. I feel… easy with you. It's nice."
Her words settled over me. For a second, it wasn't about the power or the cheat code and it felt real. "I guess I'm full of surprises," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
The connection between us felt palpable, a live wire humming with potential. It was in that perfect moment that the spell shattered. Her phone buzzed insistently on the table.
She glanced down, and her smile vanished, replaced by a tight frown that etched lines of worry onto her forehead. "Sorry," she murmured, flipping the phone over to silence it.
I nodded, not wanting to push, but a cold knot began to tighten in my stomach. The easy atmosphere had grown thin, Five minutes later, it shattered completely when a shadow fell over our table, blocking the ambient light. A man stood there, tall, with a day's worth of stubble darkening his jaw and eyes that were bloodshot and burning.
"Haze," he said, his voice a low, tight wire of controlled anger. "You ignoring my calls now?"
The light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a flicker of fear. "Ethan," she breathed, her voice a mixture of shock and dread. "What are you doing here? How did you… Don't do this. Please."
I sat frozen, my mind struggling to catch up to the sudden, violent shift in the evening. My drink felt heavy in my hand, The music and the laughter from other tables, it all seemed to recede, muffled by the thick, tense silence that had enveloped ours.
His glare, then swung from her and landed squarely on me, looking me up and down with utter contempt. "And who's this?" he sneered, the words dripping with venom. "Another one of your pathetic office losers you hide behind?"