It’s 1am, now Saturday.

Your friends have already gone home and you stand there at the bar, on your fourth glass of wine. You needed to go out tonight. To escape. He’s there, entering, accompanied by a couple of guys. He doesn’t notice you at first, but he eventually finds himself staring. Something about the way you don’t seem to be there to want to attract… the way you laugh with the bartender, the way you people-watch as if no one can see you. Your eye drifts to him. Unsettled, you head to the smokers lounge to figure if he’s some sort of drunken hallucination, drenched in light and all hazy looking. He follows, making his way through the crowd.

You fumble through your pockets in search of a lighter. A hand extends, offering you one. His. "There."