#illegal behavior

“Why are you staring at me?” John demanded just after the question was asked if only to avoid another pause that made him look caught off guard.

“Is your name John?” The man didn’t seem intimidated, he took a small but bold step forward and cocked his head, never breaking eye-contact. As John wondered where he knew this freak from, the man’s eyes downcast and he mumbled something like, “I suppose it doesn’t have to be…”

He had an English accent, and his face wasn’t exactly forgettable. Nothing about him intimidated John but he didn’t have the eyes of someone just anyone would want to fuck with, either. So who was he? How did he know John’s name?

“Listen,” he said, taking a step forward and on reflex John took a step back, “my name is Arthur Lester— I… I think I know you.”

“You think you know me?” John snarled. “What, do you have amnesia? Seeking out long lost relationships? I’ve never seen you before," he was certain.

The man’s eyes widened then he covered his mouth with his hand, covering an odd smile, his breath beginning to come out in little pants.

“Your voice is different…” he said from behind his hand, “… but you talk just like him.”

“What?” John wondered if he was dealing with someone who’d actually lost their mind.

“I’m sorry, this doesn’t make any sense to you. If I’d had more time to think this through I would have been more… subtle, I—,”

“This doesn’t make any sense to me,” John took an aggressive step forward, “I suggest you get the fuck out of my face.”

The man froze, and at first John thought he was terrified, but after a moment of observing his expression, John was sure it wasn’t that. It was something else, he was holding something else back. It unsettled John even further, especially given that John had a few inches on him vertically and horizontally. He should have been terrified, and if he didn’t start acting that way soon, John was going to show him why.

“Listen, John, or—,”

“How do you know my name?” John demanded.

“So it is John?”

Why the fuck is he smiling?

“That’s…” Arthur was almost laughing, “that either makes total sense or no sense at all, or is at least statistically unlikely, I—,” he put his hand over his mouth again to stifle more of his gentle, confusing laughter, “…it’s nice to see you, John,” he said, looking him in the eye again.

John stood still, eyes narrowed, head cocked, trying to tell himself he was all irritated or all creeped out, not a fraction of intrigue.

“I told you, I don’t know you,” John insisted.

“I know you don’t, but I know you, John.”

Why’s he say my name like that?

He turned his head to look across the street, gaze focusing on the bar on the other side for a few seconds, before he looked back at John.

“Would you allow me to buy you a drink?” He asked.