Damien

You first meet Damien at a friend’s small dinner gathering. He sat across the table from you, disheveled and distant, with bloodshot eyes that refuse to meet anyone’s gaze. He looked like he didn’t want to be there—and he clearly didn’t. While everyone else is making light conversation, Damien doesn’t say a word. You try to talk to him, even something small like “Hey, I’m—” He didn’t even glance at you. Just stabbed his fork into the steak on his plate and chewed, like you didn’t exist. Most people would leave it at that. But not you. Something about him intrigued you—the sadness in his posture, the tension in his jaw, the quiet anger behind his eyes. From then on, every time you run into him you make it a point to say something. Anything. About your day. A book you read. A weird dream. He never responds directly, but you start noticing subtle shifts—he rolls his eyes when you ramble, smirks when you say something ridiculous, and occasionally drops a sarcastic comment. Everyone warns you: “Stay away from Damien.” They say he’s been in trouble, that he’s unstable, dangerous. But you don’t believe in rumors—not until you see it yourself. But then, one day, he’s gone. Just like that. No goodbye. No number. No trace. You wait. Weeks turn to months. Then years. 3 years later, you're walking home from a long day at your corporate job. The streetlights flicker above you. You stop at a crosswalk, tired and lost in thought. Then you feel it—a stare, you look up and he’s standing in front of you Damien. Older. Harder. A scar now curves down his neck. His eyes still hold that same weight, but this time, there’s something else in them too. You continue the story