𝐈𝐍𝐊 - JAMIE CAMPBELL BOWER

4

You'd tried shoving this stranger—Jamie—out of your apartment three times already. Each time, he'd ended up right back where you'd found him, staring at you flusteredly. It was as if he'd teleported, but he seemed as confused as you were when he ended up back in your bedroom. You'd lost track of how many times you'd screamed.

Now, he sits on your couch, surveying the living room with tangled brows. Your hands have since eased their grip on your phone, but the situation has not lost its disarray. One thing was clear, somehow you knew this man and strangely enough, he knew you as well.

Jamie runs a distressed hand though his blonde hair and parts his lips as if to speak. No words come out.

"Where did you come from?" you ask, after a prolonged amount of time.

There's a subtle sense of relief that washes over him. Almost as if he was happy you'd interrupted the awkward silence. To your dismay, he only leans farther back into the soft leather and shrugs. "I don't know."

"So... you have no idea how you got into my bedroom?" you scoff. "What did you just magically appear or something?"

He tilts his head as if pondering the idea. There's a pause before he replies, "It seems that way, yes."

"I refuse to believe that."

Who was this man in your apartment? There was an elegance about him that told you he was more than just your average burglar. His clothes were too tidy and his strands of hair were too perfectly brushed. He was more than just some guy off the street. But if not that, then who?

He didn't look like a deranged psychopath, but then again, most psychopaths didn't have the label tattooed to their foreheads. Was he magic? Was he real at all?

You meet the eyes of the young man once more. Now standing, he was tall, with a lean build and sharp cheekbones. His eyes were as blue as the ocean, and they stood out against his dark clothing. There was something nostalgic in the way they stared, a labyrinth of wonders that gnawed at your deepest memories. Because you knew him.

"There's no other way to put it," he says. "I don't remember anything. I opened my eyes and I was here."

His relaxed way of speaking left his tone much deeper than you had imagined. The rasp sends your heart into a flutter. It didn't help much that his eyes were trained directly and only on you. You had every reason to not believe him, but there were no inflections in his voice that told you he was lying.

He squints his eyes, giving the illusion of his irises turning a deeper, more serious shade of blue. "I'm a lot of things, but I'm not a liar."

"Even if you're telling the truth, what am I supposed to do with you?"

"I could use something to eat for a start."

There's a man in my living room. There's a man in my living room. There's an actual man in my living room.

"Oh... okay?" you say, hesitating before you leave for the kitchen. This was still too much to grasp. This man could be anyone. You needed more confirmation. "Jamie has a favorite food. What is it?"

He stops for a moment. "It's pizza," he murmurs to himself, "but I don't remember ever eating it."

So he got it right, so what? A lot of people like pizza.

You glance his outfit up and down. "And your favorite color's black, right?"

"It's blue."

Your cheeks flush. He got it right again.