three am.

seven percent.

Three am stretched to four am as they shared wars and met each others' demons. Spilling the contents of the dark corners of their minds; words such as 'stranger' and 'secrets' seemed to be long forgotten memories to both.

When a quarter to five came, a drop of reality entered her mind.

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her: What just happened?

him: We met

her: And?

him: We happened

her: Oh... okay.

They were not friends, not even acquaintances, and they were certainly not together (even though 'we happened' suggested something). No, they were still him and her. The same him that was just walking by the street a few hours ago. The same her that nearly stepped off the sidewalk a little too early. The same him and her that stood - not meeting - underneath the name of the street.

her: What is 'we' exactly?

She didn't know if him and her, equaled 'we' already.

him: 'We' is two outsiders who happened to meet. I'd like to think that that is rare.

her: The cashier crosses paths with the buyer. The unfortunate robber to the police. The blind-date-victim, to the other victim.

She chuckled; he frowned. His hopes were apparently too high. Was it foolish of him to think that she actually understood?

her: You're right though. I think I'm glad we just didn't cross paths. I'm glad we really met.

him: Those are synonymous though, right?

her: It depends. The crossing of paths of two lines only happen once. Are we only- -

him: Not if you're three am on Saturday isn't free.