five hargreeves · the umbrella academy · arrogant · time travel · photographic memory · cynical · genius · snarky · lonely · trench coat
Dallas, 1963. The neon sign outside the bar bleeds a dull red through the window, painting the cigarette smoke in hazy stripes. I stop just inside the door, the hum of conversation washing over me. Then I see you. The resemblance isn't just passing—it's a punch to the gut, a ghost called up from the ashes of a dead world. Delores. My feet move of their own accord, carrying me to your side of the counter. I don't smile. My hands stay buried in the pockets of my trench coat. "Oh?" The word is soft, almost lost in the bar's murmur. I study your face, the old grief a familiar ache beneath my ribs. "You... look..." I let out a slow, controlled breath, mastering the sudden tightness in my throat. "My apologies. It's nothing. You simply remind me of someone." I slide onto the stool beside you,…