002 Did You Feel It Too?

Omniscient POV

It had been hours since Stace woke up. Unfazed, immovable, and borderline inconsolable because of Faceless Man. The sunlight peaks through her cream linen curtains, doing their best to remind her that this day is another chance to breathe. Without any painful resonance to Faceless Man's words from the other night.

Stace's tears flow down her cheeks. Her hand reaches for her dream journal, flipping through the pages… trying to find any answer or clue about Faceless Man's intention. Her finger traces every word written carefully.

She stumbles upon an entry from one of her darkest days, a period of her life not even her closest friend Alex knows about. Her lips start to quiver as she tries to hide the urge to cry from herself. Her steady breathing became shallow, making her gasp a little. She closed her eyes momentarily before reading one entry.

"December 8, 2021… Wednesday," she starts to read quietly. Suddenly, the room's temperature drops, enveloping Stace in a trance of shared reality and dreams.

08.12.2021 Wednesday

I haven't dreamt of him in weeks. I think I scared him the last time I talked to him. My frustrations grew—well, I just wanted to know what he wants from me. This man keeps appearing in my dream. I could almost hear his voice; he sounded calm, sure, and tender. Something I haven't heard in my entire life.

Excuse my handwriting, diary, I'm trying to gather every memory of my last night's dream.

It started like this:

I went to this café to meet up with Alex (you know her already, right?) and discuss the sequel to my first ever published novel, Somewhere Online. Technically, she wasn't there to give me outlines but to squeeze the ideas for this sequel out of me.

Until this man approaches us. Faceless Man, he's Faceless Man! I remember asking myself in that dream what he is doing here.

Is it weird that I smelled him in my dreams? His scent lingers on even now, as I'm writing this. He smelled like warm cedar, musk, and of old pages—something familiar yet unplaceable, like déjà vu wrapped in a scent.

His hand gently brushed my arm and asked me if I could come up to show me something. I willingly followed him upstairs. And at that moment, my heart knows that he's real. That one day he'd tell me who he is. He feels real to me.

"This is where I'll know more about you," he told me.

"Know more about me? What do you mean?" I believe I answered him.

"You'll know why," he smiled as he tucked the hair behind my ear.

The thought of buying over-the-counter melatonin pills crosses her mind. 'I wonder where I could get them,' she asks herself. The scenario of finally knowing Faceless Man's name filled her imagination. She smiled at the thought, tucking her hair behind her ear just like how Faceless Man does it.

The sound of her phone vibrating yanked her back to the room, scattering the remnants of the dream like smoke. Alex's name flashed on the screen.

"Hey! What time would you be arriving?" Alex asks excitedly.

"Maybe in two hours? Besides, it's just 3:15. The event won't start until 7, right?" she answered her. She puts Alex on speaker and checks her calendar to check if she remembers it right.

"I know, Stace, but I just want to spend time with you. It's been months since I last saw you," Alex pouted, even though she knows her friend won't see her.

"I'm sorry, Alex… there's just a lot going on lately," Stace sighs. "But if you let me off the hook, I'd be there in an hour," she continues.

"Okay, don't forget to bring extra markers for your signing tonight!" Alex reminds her.

She gently places her phone next to her and lets out a groan as she stretches her arms. Her face still looks a bit puffy—in a pretty way. Strands of her jet-black hair fell from her loose bun from last night, softly framing her face. She touched the section of hair she tucked behind her ear. 'No, I have to stop daydreaming about spending nights with him through my dream,' she reminded herself gently.

With one final glance at her journal, Stace rose from her bed and moved through the quiet hum of her apartment. She feels rather uneasy going out after months of confining herself to the world. The city outside had long awakened, and now it called her back to it. Her tenderness is greatly missed by the busy world.

After her long ceremonial cold shower—her pre-requisite before going out—she puts on her favorite semi-fitted cream cotton shirt that barely covers her belly button, baggy dark denim pants, and her go-to worker boots. She randomly grabbed markers sitting by her thought corner, a makeshift extension of her writing corner. Of course, before leaving her comforts, she sprayed her musky floral perfume and grabbed its decant beside it.

She grabs her house keys and her oversized cream-collared jacket by the door before checking her place in case she forgets something to do. For safety measures and to ease her mind before leaving. Her air-conditioning is turned off and no plugged cords, except for her cat's drinking fountain. Florian, her rescued tabby cat, rubs her body around her legs. Kneeling, she gives her a kiss and an extra scoop of cat food. A deep sudden sigh escaped her lips as she turns her doorknob.

Her thoughts may still be tangled by her dreams, but her steps were steady as she made her way to the café where Alex waited.

***

"I thought you'd be here later than expected!" Alex greets her with her arms, ready to give Stace a big warm hug.

"Well, I just thought I'd miss you more today, so I arrived earlier than you expected," Stace chuckles as she returns her friend's warm welcome. She squeezed her tighter, in hopes that Alex would notice how knots in her stomach are slowly consuming her.

"I ordered for us. You should eat before you grace us with your presence," Alex playfully assures her friend.

They sit next to each other; Alex knows Stace prefers this. Stace scans the café, her eyes fixating on how curated yet disorganized this place looks. It wasn't the typical gentrified cafés she's been before: big, paneled windows adorn the storefront, giving by-passers a glance of how cozy the place is; across from her is a wall of polaroids that serves as the accent wall of the first floor.

"Well, I just hope they'll notice it," Stace replies, matching her friend's humor. "You picked a pretty good place. Is this their bestseller?" she continues. She picks up the fork and mixes her pasta: meatballs in red sauce. The faint aroma of Italian seasoning awakened her taste buds. Three slices of garlic bread? How generous of this place. Stace sips on her watered-down iced tea, smiling because Alex knows her well. She prefers watered-down drinks, especially soda.

To her left is the staircase leading to the second floor, where she would do her first public book signing. She couldn't believe that months after she finished her first published novel online, a publishing house was willing to turn her work into reality. Literally.

"Hey," Alex gently taps her shoulder, giving her a reassuring smile. Their eyes meet, feeling each other's thoughts as if they're plastered on their foreheads. "You must be proud of yourself, huh," she continues.

"I could barely breathe, Alex. Is that something to be proud of?" she chuckles lightly. "But you could say that, yes," Stace continues as she twirls her pasta using her fork, picking up a portion of the meatball.

"They won't reach out to you if they don't see potential in your successful novel. Plus, this would be the first time your readers would see your face," Alex reminds Stace of her success in between coffee sips. Stace nods to her friend's words, a sign of doubt and acceptance flashes in her eyes.

Her mind begins to be confused, which thought she would entertain first? Her choice of being an anonymous writer? How did the meatball's flavor challenge her taste buds, but in a good way? What was her inspiration in writing Sometimes Online? Was it a past fling, a lover, an affair that should be hidden from the world? Or her yearning for Faceless Man? Obviously, the latter still holds the first place in her thoughts.

She looks at her watch and worry replaced her natural makeup. Her ears are starting to get warm while iciness envelops her fingertips. She tried dousing down her nervousness with the last bit of her now room-temperature iced tea, but it's no use. To divert herself from all these recurring feelings, she ate her pasta slowly, letting the tanginess and Italian flavor dominate her tongue. She knows that if she succumbs, the bitterness of bile will be her mouth's anecdote for the rest of the night.

In less than 16 minutes, she'll be facing her readers. She was consumed by her thoughts that she didn't notice that people have been filling up the second floor. Her heart is beating so loud in her ears that it muffles the murmurs of her supporters.

"You'd be fine, Stace. I'm here," Alex holds her hand, not minding how icy it feels.

"I know. Always has been, right?" Stace meets Alex's comforting gaze. They both nod at each other.

Alex reassures her. "Always."

"I'll just go freshen up," she excuses herself. She heads straight to the bathroom, completely unaware of observing brown eyes locked upon her.

After brushing her teeth and retouching her make-up, Stace puts back her essentials. The powder room feels rather confining, but somehow its area size is enough to help an anxious Stace catch up on her breathing. On her way back to their table, Stace caught a movement in her periphery.

The staircase.

Someone had just gone up—quietly, almost deliberately. The man thought his presence wouldn't go unnoticed, but Stace was different. For a split second, as he passed under the glow of the antique wall light, she felt it again.

That pull. That strange comfort only Faceless Man made her feel. The echoes of her dreams.

She blinked and turned her head toward Alex, forcing a smile.

"Ready to face them, Wren?" Alex teases her.

"You know I hate my second name," Stace scoffs, nudging her friend playfully. But she nodded to her friend, her eyes drifted back to the stairs.

"I think they're already starting to find me," she says, half to Alex, half to herself.