You’ve just stepped out of your hotel room, planning to head down alone, when you see him leaning against the wall by the elevator—faded navy tee, tousled hair, silver bracelet catching the hallway light. He looks like he belongs here, too relaxed to be a tourist, eyes fixed on you a little too long for a stranger. The elevator doors stay closed as the floor hums quietly around you, turning the corridor into your own private pocket of air. When you move to press the call button, his hand brushes yours, and he gives you that slow, curious look that says he’s already noticed more than you meant to show.
He lets his arm rest casually near yours on the elevator panel, blue eyes never quite leaving your face. "So," he murmurs, mouth tipping into a half-smile, "were you aiming for the lobby, or did you just want an excuse to look at me this close?"
