Dreams only go so far.
That night, Roy drifted off without much thought — just a blur of tired muscles and the faint ache in his knuckles from sparring. But when he opened his eyes, he was home. Or at least, what looked like home.
Everything was… right. People sat around a long table, plates steaming with food, voices humming like distant radio chatter. Everyone seemed happy. The air was warm and soft, like being wrapped in a blanket you didn't remember putting on.
But their faces—
They had none.
Smooth, pale blurs where eyes and mouths should be. Roy somehow knew each of them. Their names sat on the tip of his tongue, yet if he tried to speak, they'd dissolve into static in his mind. It was one of those hazy dreams where you know you're there, you know these people matter, but understanding why slips through your fingers like water.
Roy stood up slowly, his chair scraping the floor. "I'm going to step out for some air," he muttered to the person on his right.
The faceless head turned toward him. "You okay?"
"Yuh, yuh." He waved lazily and started toward the door.
The moment the cool night hit him, it was like a knot deep in his chest loosened. Relieved was too small a word — this was a release, like an iron weight being lifted off his lungs. That first breath of fresh air wasn't just air. It cut through the haze.
It killed it. or didn't remember drinking it.
He tossed it into a nearby bin without thinking, hearing the dull clink as it hit the bottom. Then, he started walking.
A little stumble at first — the kind you get when your legs aren't sure if they're in a dream or not. He corrected himself slowly, each step settling into rhythm. The street was quiet, save for the faint hum of a far-off lamppost.
And then, he saw her.
To his left.
A woman.
Her features were clear — painfully clear compared to the blurred nothingness of everyone inside. Her eyes were deep enough to drown in, her presence sharp and distinct. She didn't glow, but she pulled. The air around her seemed heavier and warmer, like she was carrying something whole, something complete, and that completeness bled into him without permission.
It didn't feel uncomfortable. Not even a little.
She didn't speak. Neither did he. They just… walked. Step for step, side by side, their shadows stretching out in front of them under the amber streetlight.
The silence wasn't awkward. It was full.
Every so often, Roy caught himself glancing at her from the corner of his eye, and each time he did, it felt like she was already looking at him — not in the literal sense, but in the way someone sees you entirely without needing to meet your gaze.
They turned a corner together. The buildings grew taller here, brick and concrete rising into the dim sky. Windows glowed faintly like half-remembered memories.
Roy's hands tightened slightly. He didn't know why. Something about this place felt familiar.
The woman slowed, just for a moment, and when she did, Roy felt an invisible thread between them tighten. He wasn't sure if she was leading him somewhere or if they were just walking toward the same inevitable point.
And then…
Somewhere far off, a sound. A faint crack, like glass splitting.
The pavement under them shimmered for a fraction of a second — not enough to feel wrong, but enough for Roy's instincts to twitch. He turned his head, about to say something, and—
The woman was gone.
He stood there, in the middle of the street, breathing in the cold. The amber light above flickered once, then steadied. His footsteps echoed as if the space around him had stretched out.
No other sound. No wind.
Roy looked down at his hands. Empty. No beer bottle. No warmth from the woman's presence. Just the slow thump of his heartbeat, a steady reminder that this was either still a dream… or something else entirely.
His eyes scanned the shadows at the far end of the street. Something moved.
Or maybe nothing did.
Either way, the pull in his chest — the one that had loosened earlier — started to coil again.