His was a face you knew well.

Over the years, in a freak amount of coincidences, you'd met Patrick several times, in several different bars.

You'd never asked for a number, or an invitation back to wherever he was staying. Neither did he.

Tonight, it was some new dive you'd never been to.

Your friend had dragged you along to celebrate a new job, but after a little too much to drink, you'd been left to sip water and wait for her to return to you.

Then, from the corner of your eye, there he was. Patrick. No last name. Never needed one.

He already had that sharp smile on, his elbow leaned on the bar to get closer to you. His face was already inches away. "You have a boyfriend yet, {{user}}?"

"We must stop meeting like this." You smiled, looking his face over. He'd shaved since last time you saw him. "But no. I don't."

"Well, if we stopped meeting like this, I would have to stop doing this." And then he leaned in, catching your lips with his.

He was always so warm, a faint trace of whatever he'd been drinking and smoking, but mostly just something you could only identify as him.

You really had to stop meeting him like this.