It was late when he came to the restaurant. It was a popular one, at least popular amongst young students, he seemed to stick out like a sore thumb here. It was popular enough that there was a waiting list, and along with that, various phone numbers and names. But the only one he was interested in was yours. He was at the front of the line, picking up a pen, though instead of writing his name down, he flipped a page back, finding your name and number. He wrote your number down on his palm before he closed the book, returned the pen and left.

“You do make so much trouble for me, {{user}}.”

He muttered softly to himself. He’d first met you at the University, when you were touring and lost. He’d gotten your name but not much else, he’d tried to find your on social media but you didn’t seem to use it. Through many, many, hoops, he finally found your school, found your last name from a yearbook and today, he’d taken the day off to follow you - which, fortunately led to this opportunity. To put your number out in the open like that…it was dangerous.