One | Eye Candy

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...When I was a little girl, my grandmother’s house was a world unto itself, full of strange, whispered secrets and stories that stretched far beyond the walls of her modest living room. She would sit by the fire, her hands busy with knitting or cooking, but her voice was always free to weave tales—stories of nymphs dancing in the forest, of mischievous satyrs playing pipes at dusk, and gods who walked among mortals, watching and waiting....

...Her stories filled my nights with both wonder and terror. There was always a warning at the end, a lesson I could never forget: "Always look a stranger in the eye," she’d say, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Make sure their reflection isn’t inverted. If it is, they’re not human." It scared me, deeply. As a child, my world was full of shadows that could hide monsters, and every passing stranger became a potential danger. I used to hold my breath whenever we met someone new, peeking into their eyes to make sure I wasn’t staring at something unnatural....

...But those stories... they were just that—stories. I grew older, as we all do, and I outgrew the fantastical world my grandmother had spun for me. There are no nymphs, no satyrs, no creatures lurking behind friendly faces, waiting to pounce. And as for gods? Well, if they ever existed, they must have long since abandoned us. Reality, as it turns out, is far more predictable....

...Yet, despite knowing that her stories were nothing but a product of her imagination, one habit from my childhood remains. I always look someone in the eye. Not out of fear anymore, or any real belief in magic. It’s just a part of me now, like breathing or blinking. I lock eyes with every stranger I meet, searching for something I no longer believe exists. Maybe it’s just muscle memory, a quiet homage to the girl I once was—or perhaps a part of me, deep down, still wonders....

...Even if I’d never admit it....

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The city was alive with its usual chaos-streets packed with people rushing in every direction, horns blaring, conversations merging into an indistinct hum. Yet, amidst the noise and motion, a man in a sleek black coat walked as if the world bent around him. His steps were deliberate, smooth, and exuded a confidence that bordered on arrogance. His dark sunglasses hid his eyes, but his lips carried a smug curl, as though he knew every gaze that lingered on him-and that it bored him to no end.

Girls paused mid-stride, their murmurs floating through the air as they stole glances at him, their admiration barely concealed. He was the kind of man whose beauty made people stop in their tracks, yet he offered them nothing but silent disdain. He was tired of their looks, tired of the attention, tired of it all.

Pushing open the door to a nearby coffee shop, the warm smell of roasted beans and chatter greeted him. Heads turned, as they always did, but he paid them no mind. He approached the counter, where a female barista scrambled to compose herself as he stood before her.

"Uh... what can I get you, sir?" Her voice wavered as she fumbled for a pen.

"Black coffee. No sugar." His tone was flat, laced with impatience.

She nodded quickly, dropping her pen in her fluster. He sighed in dismay, his annoyance barely contained. Taking a seat by the window, he crossed his legs and gazed outside, mouthing silent curses as his eyes roamed over the crowd.

He caught sight of the girl across the street-stealthy, her cap pulled low as she brushed past an unsuspecting man, casually relieving him of his wallet. A small scoff escaped his lips.

"Huh... Little thief," he muttered, shaking his head with a mix of boredom and amusement.

Before he could fully indulge in his cynical observation, the seat across from him was occupied by a woman. She wore a pristine mint green terno, her silver hair catching the light like moonbeams. She didn't even glance at him as she smoothly ordered her coffee.

"Double shot espresso, please." She smiled at the waitress, and then turned her attention to the man across from her, her smile disappearing as quickly as it came.

He sighed, rubbing his temple. "I was hoping you'd cancel, y'know. I have other things to do."

"Like what? Sulking?" she shot back, raising an eyebrow. "You're practically a tourist attraction, the way people were staring. I was half-expecting someone to ask for an autograph."

"Trust me, they've tried." He leaned back in his chair. "I had to sign a guy's shoe last week. He insisted."

She snorted, shaking her head. "And how tragic for you, having to fend off hordes of admirers."

"Tragic is putting it mildly," he deadpanned. "You have no idea how exhausting it is being this beautiful."

The waitress returned with their order, Her eyes were restless, briefly taking stolen glances at the man,  hands trembling slightly as she set it down. The man rolled his eyes. "See? This happens everywhere."

The woman smiled at the waitress watching her walk away with embarrassment, before she took a sip, her lips twitching as she tried not to laugh. "I'd offer sympathy, but frankly, I'm enjoying your suffering too much."

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, don't hold back on my account, Cousin. Mock my suffering."

"I wouldn't dream of holding back." She flashed him a saccharine smile before slipping a small envelope out of her bag and tossing it onto the table.

The man eyed it suspiciously. "That better not be another autograph request."

"Your target, you idiot," she said, shaking her head. "Can you Focus?"

He picked up the envelope, flipping it between his fingers. "How considerate of you to ruin my morning with this." His tone was flat, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"As if your day could get any worse. You're practically drowning in self-pity," she shot back, sipping her espresso.

He gave her a mock glare. "Says the one who drowns herself in booze..."

"At least I'm pretty, but you--- I've seen what drowning in booze does to you," she retorted. "Not so... pretty."

"I can't believe we were even related" he muttered, feigning disbelief.

"Were? I thought we still were," she quipped, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned, leaning back in his chair again. "We were, before you decided to drag me out to this overpriced coffee shop."

"You love overpriced coffee shops," she said, nonchalant. "It's the only place you can brood and feel superior to everyone around you."

He opened his mouth to retort, but she cut him off with a smirk. "Don't deny it."

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Okay, fine. But this-" he tapped the envelope with a finger "-this better be good."

"It's as good as it's going to get." She stood abruptly, adjusting her skirt. " Well I guess my job's done. Have fun hunting, and don't forget to tip the waitress, you old scrooge "

She turned to leave, but he quickly called after her. "Hey! You didn't pay for your coffee!"

Without breaking stride, she raised her hand in a dismissive wave. "See you around, cousin! ."

He blinked in stunned silence before his lips curled into a wry grin. "Seriously, You're still...unbelievable. "

He sat there, momentarily speechless, watching as she vanished into the throng of the bustling city.

A quiet sigh escaped him as his gaze dropped to the envelope in his hand, its weight heavier than it seemed.

How did it come to this? he wondered. His mind drifted to a distant memory, where echoes of laughter and friendship still lingered.

They were all friends, they were a family, yet now they were nothing more, but beings bound by duty-forever caught in a web they never asked for.

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