"I know you," it's a statement that he's adament on, but memory fails him where it usually never would. faces - names, things he didn't easily let slip, and yet the woman he'd rounded on in the middle of the street had him feeling lost. a fleeting image; the itch he couldn't scratch. Seconds that crept in as they walked towards one another on the sidewalk otherwise forgettable, beyond the flicker of recognition. "How do I know you?" It's brazen, and he offers no apology for quite literally pulling her to a stop, fingers still curled around her upper arm."