Author's note: I was vacuum-cleaning. And then I started humming the song "So Far Gone" by James Blunt and I got an idea. And then I remembered another song that fits the idea more, and I ran to my laptop to write it.

No time for chatting, but I really hope you like this one!

I love you all, and thank you.

(All characters belong to Richelle Mead)

I sat down on a chair… A chair I've been sitting in for nights and nights, even though I had no idea why.

Why was I in a bar filled with smoke of nicotine, among people I didn't even know? There was a beggar there, a drunken man there, a woman wearing indecent clothes on the other side of the room…

I don't really remember how I ended up here in the first place. One night, I felt something, an urge to go out, to find something, and I went to take a walk. When I passed by this bar, I heard a voice that made me shiver, a voice I shouldn't have heard because it's owner wasn't shouting or anything, and it made me gasp, stop and enter the place.

Since then, I've been coming here and sitting in the same chair, the only seat that wasn't occupied that night, every single night. And every single night, he was there.

When I entered the bar for the first time, my whole body told me to turn around and leave, but my heart was telling me I had to see who the voice's owner was. You see, he was singing a song, a beautiful song, and just as I looked up, he started to sing in a soft voice, "You're beautiful, it's true, I saw your face in a crowded place…"

I gasped, putting my hand on my heart because his wonderful, heavenly voice suited his handsome face and beautiful body perfectly, and it made him look at me. I didn't understand how he heard my gasp, and when we locked eyes – his amazing emerald ones looking into my regular, boring brown ones and seeing straight into my very soul – I realized I was in love with him.

But apparently, I wasn't the only one. He stopped singing then, but quickly recollected himself and continued the song. He probably had to stop because I was looking horrible – I didn't comb my hair or put make-up on, I just got out of my apartment with a feeling that I was missing something, something important.

And it led to this.

I found out the next day that his name was Jet Steele and that he wasn't famous or anything, but that girls loved him because he was just so handsome.

I didn't fall for handsome guys.

I also found out that there was no record about him existing until before two months, when he mysteriously appeared with a guitar and started singing in a bar.

I didn't fall for criminals.

But somehow, my legs carried me to that same bar every single night for months, and I enjoyed every single moment when he was on the stage. With my memory lost because of that car crash in which I lost my parents and my sisters, it was hard to forget about all of that, all the pain and loss and grief, but with Jet, I managed to forget about everything.

But he made me start remembering those weird dreams I had, weird dreams of my father torturing me and him, screaming my name.

Sydney.

Not wanting to think about it further, I closed my eyes and started to drink the alcoholic drink in front of me. Somehow, I felt better after a glass of this. Somehow, I didn't feel like I was lost and alone while I drank and listened to Jet and his singing.

I really couldn't figure him out. I mean, he was handsome and he obviously broke some law and decided to become a singer in a bar to hide from the police, but I couldn't understand his songs. Or, to be more accurate, the songs he chose to sing, because he always sang either Coldplay or James Blunt.

Perfect for the mood I was in tonight.

I also couldn't understand why a girl would leave him. His voice and his songs were so sad that it was hard to believe that he didn't dedicate them all to someone. One night, there was a light-brown-haired girl, and when he started to sing "I'm watching you breathing for the last time…" she sighed and put her head in her hands. I suspected he was the mysterious girl, but she never showed up after that night, so I supposed he either scared her off or she was just his friend.

But Jet kept singing, and he kept entrancing me with his voice. It was so easy to close my eyes and just listen and listen, drowning in his words and in the melody, feeling as if the world slipped away and there was nothing left except for his music.

Finally, he started playing his guitar, like every night, and all other thoughts melted away from my mind. I didn't notice when he sat in the chair on the stage, so I didn't have time to admire his beauty, but now was the perfect time. He was looking into his guitar, his messy brown hair falling into his eyes, and he was wearing a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was sitting on a small chair and he was playing his guitar with his long, skillful fingers and he really looked like an angel.

But he was most likely the devil, since as soon as he touched the strings and produced a sound girls started squealing and screaming, "Jet!" making him smile.

Somehow, I knew it wasn't an honest smile, because it didn't quite reach his eyes.

And then he started to sing. I felt goose bumps travel along my skin, wherever his voice touched me. Tonight, he touched me everywhere. "When you wake up, turn the radio on, and you'll hear a simple song," he started softly and I closed my eyes, "That I made up, that I made up for you…"

I still didn't understand his music. I mean, he was singing to a girl that wasn't here, so why put all his emotions in the song? I never understood art, so I couldn't understand singing, neither, but while watching and hearing him, I believed I could, even if it was just for a moment.

"When you're driving, turn your radio up, 'cause I can't sing loud enough," he sang more fiercely now, "Hard these days, to get my message through…"

I tried to remember what happened before the car crash I survived, I tried to remember my life. I knew what they – or rather, Donna Stanton, my father's best friend – told me. I knew I was just a regular 18-year-old from a regular family and that I lost everything that connected me to my life before the accident. I knew I was homeschooled and that I passed all exams so that I could get into any university I wanted, but somehow, I didn't want to enroll anywhere. After all, my parents were rich and I was financially secured – at least until I found a purpose for myself, that is.

But I didn't have the strength to stay in the house that meant nothing to me, in Utah. I just packed suitcases and left, taking only a single photo of my family with me. I knew nothing about who I was, what I loved or hated, what kind of a teenager I was, because I had no diaries, no playlists with songs, no ex-boyfriends, nothing. I just had Donna Stanton's pleasant face, telling me "Good luck."

So I decided to go to Chicago and start a life there. So far, I only managed to drink alcohol and listen to a guy sing, so the situation wasn't good.

Jet continued to sing, making all thoughts disappear. "If time is all I have, I'll waste it all on you," he sang and I opened my eyes to see him look at me. He always glanced at me when he said important words, but he never kept my gaze.

This time wasn't any different. His gaze dropped to his guitar, and he hit the strings with more force. "Each day I'll turn it back, it's what the broken-hearted do," he sang angrily, and then dropped his voice so that I barely heard him, "I'm tired of talking to an empty space, of silences keeping me awake…"

The bar disappeared, and all the people in it. Even the teenage girls and their shrieks and gasps stopped existing. It was just me, Jet and his guitar.

And his voice. He was an angel without wings, I knew. "When you marry, and you look around, I'll be somewhere in that crowd," he continued, turning his head up to look at me again, "Torn up that it isn't me."

I felt as if he was singing to me, though it was ridiculous, of course, but it still didn't stop my heart from beating faster. "When we're older, and the memories fade," he said and closed his eyes, just to hit the strings harder and almost shout, "I know I'll still feel the same… Yes, for as long as I live."

And then he sang the chorus again, making me shiver. He was just so talented, and I was so unexplainably entranced by his performance and his very being, that it was all crazy. I mean, I fell in love with a singer from a bar? Really? As he started singing, "If time is all I have, I'll waste it all on you," I closed my eyes, drinking the alcohol from the glass.

It numbed the feeling of being empty, the feeling of missing something. "Each day I'll turn it back – it's what the broken-hearted do," Jet continued, "I'm tired of talking to an empty space, of silences keeping me awake…"

Then he suddenly stopped playing his guitar, and whispered, "Won't you say my name?"

I was so startled that I opened my eyes to see him looking at me sadly, as if expecting something from me. To shout Jet? Hell no. It wasn't even his real name.

"One time?" he whispered again, then closed his eyes and said desperately, "Please, just say my name!"

I almost shouted Jet, just to comfort him, but thankfully, he started playing his guitar and singing again. "But if time is all I have, I'll waste it all on you," he sang, and an image flashed before my mind – an image of me, holding Jet's arms, smiling and leaning up to kiss him. It was an image from one of those dreams I had, one of those dreams in which he and I were in love, and we were afraid of losing each other, and something bad happened…

I shook my head, willing the ridiculous thought away. Okay, I was obsessed with him and I was dreaming about him, but if he knew me, he would've said something. He was probably just wondering why I was there every single night so that's why he always glanced up to see if I was still there, and that's all. There was no further connection.

"Each day I'll turn it back," Jet continued, and we locked eyes. I expected him to look at his guitar or someone else, like he did every single night for over three months, but no; this time, he held my gaze.

And he continued singing. "It's what the broken-hearted do; I'm tired of talking to an empty space, of silences keeping me awake…"

Then he whispered, "Won't you say my name?" again, and I already prepared myself to shout Jet from some unknown reason, but he smiled and sang, "When the song is over…"

My body decided to tune in to the situation in that moment, and I heard the annoying teenagers shouting Jet! Jet!, making me roll my eyes.

People applauded to him, but he didn't move, or say anything; he just sat there, looking at me with a sad smile, his eyes desperate, as if he was trying to tell me something.

But I didn't know what. I just know I wanted to make that sad smile disappear, I wanted to know why he was sad and make it right, I wanted to kill the girl that made him feel this way. I wanted to listen to him sing forever, I wanted to lie down and cry, and hug him, and kiss him, and stay with him forever…

So then something unexplainable happened. Jet broke the gaze and stood up, turning to leave, but I stood up, too, and whispered, "Adrian." I didn't know how, or why I said it, and I was thankful that nobody was able to hear it, but I just had that sudden urge to say the name.

I didn't know anyone named Adrian. It was a strange name, and it was definitely not what Jet Steele wanted to hear. So I closed my eyes, bit my lower lip and mentally hit the wall with my head.

But when I opened my eyes, Jet was still on the stage, and he was looking at me with wide eyes. It just made them look more beautiful and my stomach made a flip, but I couldn't move – we both just stood there, looking at each other, with me wondering how he was able to hear me.

And then he smiled a real smile, a smile that reached his eyes and that, I somehow knew, he kept just for me, and I had to smile back. I felt butterflies in my stomach, and I knew that I'd do anything to make that smile appear on his face again.

Jet said, "Thank you, everyone, and see you tomorrow," and he glanced me again, still smiling with that ridiculously handsome smile. But then he left the stage and disappeared, and I quickly made my way out of the bar.

As soon as I was out, I leaned my back on the closest wall and sighed happily. I was probably drunk and imagined all of that, but I was sober enough with the cold air hitting my face and a tingling sensation all over my skin.

I called him Adrian, and he heard. And it made him smile. Somehow, I knew his name, and somehow, it triggered something from deep within me.

Somehow, I knew he'd be there tomorrow.

And somehow, I knew I'd be there, too.