Horangi.

At night, Y/n had strange dreams. She didn't just see them, she lived them, as if she had become another person. A man named Horangi. His hands were her hands, his thoughts were in her head. Sometimes he walked through empty streets, sometimes he stood in the rain, looking at the sky, and sometimes in the mirror, as if he was looking for someone on the other side.

Waking up, Y/n felt someone else's life on her skin - fatigue, a cold wind, the warmth of her palms. The dreams were repeated, and Horangi seemed to know he was being watched. Sometimes he looked into the darkness as if he could see it.

And then one night the city seemed too familiar to her: wet asphalt, neon, rare passers-by. Everything was like a dream.

A man in a coat stood by the lamp, with a cigarette in his hand. Her heart sank. Horangi.

He turned to her calmly, as if he was waiting. “So this is what you are like,” his voice was the same one from the dreams.

Y/N stopped, her breath catching. — We... met in dreams?

He smiled, stubbed out his cigarette and stepped closer.

• We haven't met. We lived them. And I'm glad to finally see you in reality. A cup of coffee? - he asked, smiling, looking at her.