This isn’t the time to dream of him—the boy with the blue eyes.

But it happens anyway.

Even on this hellish day called my birthday, when everything is falling apart, my mind still finds him. Or maybe he finds me.

I sink into the couch, feeling the soft cushions embrace me as I watch him. He stands in the kitchen, moving effortlessly as he flips a stack of golden pancakes. The scent drifts toward me, warm and sweet, like something out of a memory I don’t remember making.

"Why are you always here?" My voice comes out softer and I realize the tone. I wasn’t in my older self, I'm back to younger me like the other dreams I've been in.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he plates the pancakes with practiced ease, layering them high before walking toward me. His outfit—a blue shirt over a crisp white one—feels familiar, like I’ve seen him in it before, but I can’t recall when. His hair is darker now, not the golden shade I think it used to be.

He places the plate in front of me, a small smile playing on his lips, and I murmur, "Thank you." Even in dreams, I guess manners matter.

This shouldn't feel normal.

But it does.

I should be questioning why this keeps happening—why I always end up here, drawn into his presence like a moth to a flame. But instead, I let it play out. Because in this dream, there’s no danger. No fear. Just him.

He takes the stool beside me, watching as I lift my fork. The silence stretches between us, thick with the weight of the unanswered question. I take a hesitant bite, the flavors bursting on my tongue—too real, too vivid for a dream.

"You didn’t answer me," I say again, between bites as I glance at him.

This time, his gaze meets mine, searching, as if he’s looking for something he’s afraid to find. Then, without a word, His fingers reach for my hair, absently twirling a loose curl, his eyes focused on it as though he’s memorizing every strand. His touch is gentle, careful, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he moves too fast.

"Why?" he murmurs, almost to himself. "Have you grown tired of my company? Maybe you’ve found someone else?"

The question throws me off.

The suggestion is so absurd it pulls a gasp from me. "I would never," I blurt out, the words spilling out before I can think.

His brow furrows, but only for a second before he laughs, a deep, warm sound that sends a shiver down my spine. His dimples crease, his shoulders shaking slightly, and I realize too late that I’ve been staring—at his lips, at the way his Adam’s apple moves as he chuckles.

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I force my attention back to my plate.

"I didn’t mean it like that. I just..." I hesitate, pushing the pancakes around with my fork. "I don’t understand why you’re here. Why you’d want to spend time with me. Shouldn’t you be with people your age? Or someone... special?"

The words feel like a betrayal as they leave my mouth, as if I’m asking him to go.

His fingers still in my hair. Slowly, deliberately, he tilts my chin up, forcing my eyes back to his. The world around us blurs, fades, until there’s only him—those impossibly blue eyes, searching mine with something that makes my breath catch.

"Who’s to say I’m not with someone special right now?" His voice is quiet, but there’s something unshakable in it.

I blink at him. "But I’m not your age."

"Am I complaining?"

"But—"

"But nothing, Red." The nickname rolls off his tongue like it belongs to me. "I spending time with you. More than you know."

His gaze doesn’t waver, and for some reason, it makes my chest feel tight, like there’s something more here, something I’m not seeing.

"Really?" I whisper.

"Really," he affirms. Then, as if to prove it, he kneels in front of me, extending his hand. His pinky finger is raised—a simple gesture, innocent yet oddly intimate.

"I can prove it," he says.

I blink. "Do what?"

"A pinky promise, Red." His tone is light, teasing, but there’s something deeper beneath it.

I arch a brow. "Aren’t you a little old for that?"

He chuckles. "No one’s ever too old for anything, dear. Now, it’s your turn."

I reach out, hesitant, but before our fingers can touch—

Everything vanishes. Darkness surrounds everywhere as the couch, kitchen and even my mystery man. All gone. Disappear.

Poof.

"Red." I hear a voice. It's sounds near, possibly my imagination.

"Red."

The voice slithers through the fog in my mind, dragging me from the dream’s fading warmth. But something is wrong. It’s not him. Not the boy with the blue eyes.

It’s deeper—rough, cracked, like an old man’s voice echoing in an empty room.

"Snap out of it and wake up."

A chill races down my spine before my body jolts awake. My eyelids snap open, and I suck in a breath, lungs burning as if I’ve been drowning. Every muscle aches, a dull pain settling into my bones, reminding me that what happened, the men who wanted to kill me, the man who talked about eating my soul.

The man who saved me from all this insanity with a word from his mouth, wasn't a dream.

It's real.

I’m in the back seat of a car, wrapped in darkness. The scent of leather and something sharp—metallic, almost like blood—clings to the air. The only sound is the hum of the engine and the voice that pulled me back.

"What happened?" My voice comes out hoarse, cracked from disuse, but the man behind the wheel doesn’t answer. He just drives, his face unreadable in the dim glow of the dashboard.

"Sir," I try again, this time stronger, pushing through the confusion clouding my brain.

His grip on the wheel tightens. "I heard you," he mutters, like my voice annoys him.

The passing streetlights flicker over his face, revealing sharp angles and something… off. He doesn’t look like the kind of person who saves people. Yet, here I am. Alive.

I wet my lips, throat still dry. "What did you do to me?" I whisper, remembering how he told me to sleep—and how I obeyed without question.

His head tilts slightly, like he’s debating whether I deserve an answer. "I saved your life," he finally says, as if it’s nothing. As if I should be grateful.

I grip the leather seat, frustration flaring. "You know what I mean." My voice is steadier now. "You said ‘sleep,’ and I did."

Silence.

His eyes stay locked on the road, but the weight of them presses against me, like he’s peeling away my thoughts layer by layer.

Then, casually, he asks, "Who were you dreaming about?"

My breath hitches.

"What?"

"You were all smiles and shit," he says, glancing at me with something close to amusement. "Who was it? 'Cause I know you don’t have a boyfriend."

Heat rushes to my face. He was watching me? I cross my arms, glaring. "Are you spying on me now?"

He smirks. "You’re not subtle, Red."

Anger coils in my gut. This guy—whoever he is—has no right to talk to me like this. In my head, I call him a creepy old man, but before I can say anything, his voice cuts through the air like a blade.

"I'm not a creep. Watch your words."

I freeze.

How did he—

My stomach twists. No. No way.

I shift in my seat, every instinct screaming at me to get out of this car, but before I can reach for the handle, his voice lowers, smooth and knowing.

"Don’t try to leave. We need to get you to your aunt’s."

Panic claws at my chest. "Are you a wizard or something?" I blurt out, trying to mask my fear with sarcasm.

He chuckles, the sound deep and amused. "I don’t think wizards can do what I can." His words are teasing, but there’s something unsettling beneath them.

I don’t have time to push further. The car slows, headlights illuminating the familiar but eerie outline of my aunt’s house. It looms in the darkness, the windows hollow and black, like empty eyes watching me.

I grab the door handle and yank.

Nothing.

Panic rises. I shove at the door, slamming my fist against it. "Let me out!"

It swings open—on its own.

A cold gust rushes in, and when I turn, he’s already out of the car, standing in the dim light. He looks different now—still rugged, still intense, but something in his gray eyes sparks familiarity. Like I’ve seen him before.

But that’s impossible.

I don’t waste another second. "Thanks," I mumble, slipping out of the car and bolting toward the house. My heart pounds as I reach the porch, breathless.

The door flies open before I can knock.

Aunt May pulls me into a crushing hug, her voice thick with relief. "Red! On my lord!" Her heart speaks as it pounds loudly against my chest as we hug. "I was so scared! I tried calling you, but your phone was off."

I bury my face in her shoulder, the dam breaking. "I’m sorry, Aunt May. It’s been a terrible day."

Tears spill onto her sweater, and for the first time in hours, I feel safe.

But as she ushers me inside, I risk one last glance over my shoulder.

The man is still there.

Watching.

"What's wrong?" Aunt May tilts her head to the side, wondering where my focus was and then I hear a silent gasp from her. "No way." She mutters, her body starts to shake slightly as she lets go of me and walks pass me, heading straight to the stranger who stares blankly at her.

"J," she whispers, her hand clenching into fist as the words came out of her mouth. It felt like venom from her lips and judging with how he's looking back her, with a soft stare and guilt tripping in his eyes, tells me that they know each other.

"Good to see you, May," he says as she stops in front of him, a step away from being inches close to him.

"Aunt, how do you know him?" I ask, trying to get her attention but she ignores me and without any  sign–SLAP — a hard slap on his right cheek, it echoes briefly around us but he doesn't move nor show any anger or pain. It's like he knew it would happen.

"Get out!" Aunt May's finger points directly toward the gate, her tone scaring me as this is the first time she has spokem harshly to anyone.

He didn't move though. He simply stares at her with the soft stare and calmly says, "I can't leave this time,"

"But you did last time," she snaps. "And how are you even here? Why are you here?"

"To take Red." He reveals, his eyes glancing at me for the first time since their interaction and looks back at her. "She's in danger..."

If he had stopped there it wouldn't have been a problem but then he drops a bombshell, shaking me and my entire existence to the bones and that’s where my problem starts.

"....And as her uncle I need to protect my niece."

I almost accused my ears of being faulty when hearing what he said but then I stare at Aunt May who is already looking at me, her eyes widen with the same shock as I am but the clear difference between our shocks is that her shock says she already know what this man in front of me is saying is not a lie.

My mind, being ever stubborn to believe the statement even if Aunt May stare confirms, tells me to press further and ask him.

And I do with my words shaking, I ask, "W-What did you say?"

"You heard perfectly Red," he says, his arms placed behind his back, his voice stern and serious as he continues with his introduction.

"I’m Jay Declonoix, your uncle. I wish we had more time for introductions, but if I don’t get you out of this realm now, you won’t survive."