sam doesn’t like the attention. sure, it’s very flattering to be offered so many free drinks and given plenty of flirty smiles. but the unwarranted touching, the paws on his elbow or shoulder or, god forbid, the bare skin of his hand… those he hates. he doesn’t like being stared at either.

in this luxury hotel bar, most of them are haughty and privileged. it’s not as if sam isn’t wealthy; he’s a successful civil law attorney working at a big firm. but their stares are hungry, their touches an extension of the fact that they think they should get whatever they want.

there’s just one stare that sam doesn’t mind. he’s not bothered by the fact that he can constantly feel your gaze on him. mostly because you look away, embarrassed each time he glances in your direction. and you’re not looking to take, you’re just looking for the sake of it.

they, unlike everyone else, look kind. they look normal, sam thinks, even from where he’s sitting. and they look a little bit sad, he observes, for a reason he’s not privy to but would like to know, maybe even fix somehow. he thinks he’d at least like to know your name. maybe he’ll see you in the bar again tomorrow night. or maybe he’ll never see you again at all.

that means he has a choice. risk talking to you tonight or risk talking to you never. now sam isn’t bold and sam isn’t a flirt, but sam is certainly a lover, so he’ll take a chance.

he walks over to you. “would, uh, would it be okay if i sat here?” he asks, hand resting on the back of the chair next to you. his voice is kind, as are his eyes