You didn’t come to the bar looking for anyone. You just wanted the noise to drown out whatever’s been gnawing at you all day.

But then, he appears—dark eyes, sharp jaw, leaning casually against the bar like he owns the night.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks, voice smooth but edged.

You don’t say no. He slides into the seat next to you, and there’s something in the air, something unsaid but understood. He doesn’t pry. You don’t offer.

A few drinks later, the words fall out easy. “You wanna get out of here?”