~ Randolph ~

A year has passed since my mishap. No, more than a year. Actually, it would be more accurate to call it the biggest mistake of my life, but I'll reserve that title for something else. Hopefully, I'll never have to use it. So my mishap: sleeping with my ex-boyfriend after my other ex-boyfriend just broke up with me. Never gonna happen again.

A year seems like a lot of time to get things done, and I'd love to say I did exactly that, but apart from graduating, not much happened. I spent a lot of time with Daniel and Suzie, and my sister, who's (surprisingly) still dating Simon, which has to be the longest relationship she's ever had, and I did everything I could to stay away from boys out of fear that I'd lose my heart to one again. But now I'm finally looking for a proper job, because selling hats is getting a bit boring—don't ask. Studying art is all fun and games, until you discover it's quite impossible to find work that has anything to do with art. Suzie was lucky to land a job at the museum, but full is full. There's nothing there for me. Daniel is even more useless in helping me find something. He's been working at the supermarket for five years and he just... He really doesn't give a fuck, as long as he can pay his food, his clothes and his weird gadgets.

Which brings me to where I am now. The local print shop. I'm pretty damn stupid for not thinking of it earlier, because this shop does not only sell prints, but also art supplies, and I occasionally come here myself to get some. My brain must have been lying somewhere in a jar in the back of my closet the past year. The old lady that owns the shop is always very kind, so I'm hoping she'll be kind enough to hire me.

"Excuse me." I tap on the counter to get her attention and she flies up with wide eyes.

"Sorry, I was a little preoccupied! I dropped a box of pencils earlier."

"That's okay," I assure her with a smile. "I was just wondering... if you perhaps need some help at your store? I never see anyone here and I thought... maybe you could use someone?"

For a moment, she looks confused. I'm not quite sure why, because the concept of somebody asking for a job doesn't seem that farfetched, even in a print shop. Still, she scratches her head and takes quite some time to think about it. "I'm not sure..."

I resist the urge to sigh. "Do you mind me asking why not?"

"Well, I don't really need anyone, since there's not much to do, but... it might be nice. It depends on how much you know."

"I come here quite a lot."

"Oh, I know, dear. I remember faces quite well. You're an art student, aren't you?"

"Was. I graduated."

She nods. "I see."

I nervously shift from foot to foot. She's peering at me so intensely that I feel a sudden need to use the bathroom. I'm not going to get the job, am I?

"Okay, sure. Why not?"

What? "Really?"

"Really. I suppose I can explain everything to you. It's not like we get a lot of customers this time of year anyway. When will you be available?"

"All day, every day, ma'am." Now that I'm done with college, I have more than enough time. I'll be ready to go at any time, whenever she needs me.

"That's good," she says with a nod. "It's calm in the mornings, so we'll have plenty of time to go through everything."

"Thank you so much!"

"Oh, what's your name again, dear?"

"Randolph."

"What a lovely name. Can you come tomorrow, Randolph? The shop opens at ten."

"I'll be here tomorrow morning at ten," I say excitedly.

"Alright, till then!"

The first thing I'm meant to do when I come to the shop the next day is to call my boss Lorette instead of 'ma'am'. She says it really grinds her gears when people don't call her by her name. "It's been given to me for a reason," she says, and I have to agree, so I tell Lorette she can call me Randy.

For about three hours, she shows me how everything in the shop works, especially the printing part, since I already know most the art part. Occasionally, I'm sent to the counter to help the very few customers that come in, but I don't have much trouble with this, since I'm already used to selling things.

Everything's going perfectly fine, until a ridiculously hot guy suddenly comes in. I almost groan out loud and hide from the tall, dark-haired guy with a cloud of freckles on his face, behind the counter, hoping Lorette will go and help him instead. I'm not joking when I say that I literally stay away from cute boys. No, no more heartbreak for me.

"Oh, Marcus, how nice of you stop by! Randy, come say hello to my grandson."

Damnit.

I walk over, nervously rubbing my neck, and hold out my hand, wishing I could just pull it back before he can even take it, but that would look weird. I don't want Lorette to think I'm incompetent or anything. I can interact with people normally! Even if they look godly...

"Nice to meet you," I murmur as he shakes my hand.

"Nice to meet you, too," he says, with a hoarse voice, and a smile— That smile! Oh, no... dimples. I curse whoever invented dimples.

"Marcus lives a few blocks over."

Does that mean he comes over regularly? I glance at Lorette and she suddenly throws her hands up. "Oh, I'll go finish things up and close the shop! Why don't you two get to know each other?" And she's gone. She leaves me all alone with Marcus.

Awkward silence.

"Uh, hi."

"Hey," he answers. "Didn't know she was hiring people."

"I just... I came to ask and she said yes."

Another awkward silence.

"Are you from around here?" I say, just to fill the void.

"Yeah, I live a few blocks over."

"Right." I smack my own face. "Lorette just said so."

He laughs. "It's okay. Are you nervous?"

Yes, but not because of the reason you think... Please just finish up already, Lorette! Free me from this hell! And can Marcus stop staring at me like that?!

I nod, looking away to hide my blush.

"Would you like to go out some time?"

What the actual...

I turn back to him with wide eyes. Did I imagine him saying that?

"W-what?"

"I don't know if you're into guys so I thought I might as well ask before my grandma comes back. Are you?"

I'm ashamed to say that I just stand there, probably looking like a gaping fish. I just.. I simply don't have words. How? Why does this always happen to me? I'm not even that good-looking! I'm told I'm cute. That's it. Cute and awkwardly tall and lanky, like a reed.

"Uh, I-I don't..."

"Sorry, I must have guessed wrong. Never mind."

Again, I only stand frozen, contemplating whether I should tell him that he did guess right. But if I do that, he'll want to go out with me and I don't want that, but I do, but I don't, but I do—

"No." It's out before I realize I even opened my mouth.

He raises one of his dark eyebrows. "No?"

"I mean, no, you didn't guess wrong."

"Oh, good. Then I didn't completely embarrass myself. Would you like to go out then?"

I'm not even surprised that he's so straightforward. Like grandmother like grandson. She's been asking me things and ordering me around all day. I should be used to it by now.

I frown. "I don't know..."

But then Lorette comes out, promptly ending the conversation. Marcus shoots me a look that says 'we'll talk later' and I gulp. Even more so when Lorette says, "Can you come by again tomorrow, Marcus? I need you to help me and Randy carry some stuff."

"Of course," he replies, a smile playing around his lips.

Well, there goes my plan.

When I tell Daniel and Suzie about Marcus, they're way too excited. They don't understand that this situation is bad, not good. They think going out with somebody will do me good, but it's only making me anxious. I don't even know this guy! What if he's a player? What if he just wants to hit and run? He barely even knows me and he asked me out just like that! Surely there's a catch.

"Come on, Randy, what if he's nice?" Suzie screeches into the phone. "Is he hot?!"

"I refuse to answer that question."

"So he's hot."

"No."

"Sure," she laughs. "Why didn't you say yes?"

"Because I don't want to!"

"I can hear your nose growing, Pinocchio."

"Why wouldn't you want to go out with a hot guy, Randy?" Daniel asks. "If I were gay I'd jump his bones right away."

"Yeah, well, you're not and I'm not like you. And I don't wanna go out with him, because... You know, I just don't... I don't wanna get dumped again, okay?!"

Yeah, I know. It sounds kinda stupid when I say it out loud.

"Who says he's gonna dump you? Not every guy is a scumbag."

"Yeah, okay, not every guy is a scumbag and my ex-scumbag is now my scumbag-friend, but less scumbaggy, and my other ex was never a scumbag to begin with, but he started dating someone else suspiciously soon after we broke up! So how can I know if Marcus is a scumbag or not? It's safer to just never start anything with him in the first place!"

"Wow, Randolph, you've really spiraled down... into a deep, dark, depressed... hole. When did you get so angsty, dude?"

"I wish I could hug you right now," Suzie whispers.

"I have an idea."

"Daniel, no," I sigh.

"Yes. Suzie and I are going to come to the print shop tomorrow to approve of this Marcus dude, and if we do— No, when we do, you'll go out with him."

"That's a stupid—"

"That's a great idea!" Suzie interrupts me.

So I tell Lorette not to let in a short, young woman with a black bob and a tall guy with blond, spiky hair that look like they're up to no good. She gives me a look, before saying, "Sure thing, Randy."

Lorette is a really nice person to work with. Like I said, she's straightforward, and she's easy-going, a little chaotic, but still very helpful whenever I have a question. I really hope she likes me as much I like her, because I am definitely enjoying this job so far—despite her handsome grandson.

Speaking of him, he doesn't show up till it's late in the afternoon and I act as normal as I can while he carries around boxes, muscles straining with the effort. Fuck off, Marcus. I don't want to see your pretty arms! Put on a long-sleeved shirt!

"I think your stalkers have arrived, Randy," Lorette says, pointing at the window, where Suzie and Daniel are shamelessly peering through the window.

"Shit."

She snorts, but then tells me sternly, "Don't swear in the shop."

"Sorry. I'll go send them away."

"You go do that. I'll take over the counter. Come back soon, will you? You have to sorts this new batch of brushes later."

"Certainly," I say, nodding, and hurry over to the entrance of the shop. "Suzie, Daniel, if you don't leave right now, I'm going to call the police and tell them you're stalking me."

"You wouldn't dare," Daniel says.

"You were right, Randy," Suzie whispers. "He is hot. Super hot."

"Stop it!" I hiss at her. "You need to leave. I don't want Lorette to fire me because you guys won't stop harassing us."

"Already referring to you two as an 'us', huh?" Daniel asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Shut up. I was talking about— Whatever. I'm going back inside and you guys are going to leave. Got it?"

"Alright, fine," Suzie sighs. "We'll go if you promise to say yes."

"No."

"Then we're staying here all day."

"I hate you," I scoff, turning around to go back inside. The last thing I hear before the door closes is, "He's gonna do it."

They know me too well.

Marcus didn't notice a thing. By the time Lorette is kicking us out to close up shop again, he only asks me, "Were those two people your friends?"

"Yeah."

"They seem nice."

"They are. Sometimes."

He looks at me for a moment and I'm sweating buckets because I know he's waiting for my answer. I wish I could leave, but Lorette hasn't talked to me about when I'm expected to come back to work yet, so I can't do anything but stand there, staring ahead like a zombie.

"Sorry if I freaked you out yesterday," he says eventually. "I forget to turn on my filter sometimes."

"It's okay," I sigh. It's not his fault that I freaked out anyway. "Most people are too afraid to ask, so... props to you."

"Yeah, I might have gotten socked in the face for it in the past."

I can't help but laugh at the image of him going up to a random guy to ask if he's gay and getting punched. "That's... stupid."

"I know," he chuckles, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "So, sorry for springing that on you so suddenly. Maybe you would just like to get to know each other first? I'll get you a cup of coffee."

I can feel my resolve breaking. He's not only hot but also... in an I-gotta-stop-saying-stupid-shit way, really cute. Fuck. Why is the world so unfair? Why can't I just be left alone to go back home and eat a tub of ice cream and paint sad paintings and cry myself to sleep?

"I would like that."

Randy, no...

Ah, well, I tried. If he turns out to be a scumbag, I'll let Daniel kick his butt. And my ex/scumbag/friend Zack, too, while we're at it.

He smiles, showing those amazing dimples again, and Lorette finally emerges from the shop. "Oh, are you still here, Marcus? You're not preying on my new coworker, are you?"

I can't stop my face from turning red and I quickly turn away so she can't see it as Marcus replies, "I don't prey on people, Grandma."

"No, you're right—" I breathe out a sigh of relief. "—but you sure are persistent when it comes to getting into somebody's pants."

"Grandma!"

Gotta blast.

"Tomorrow again, Lorette?" I press out, ignoring the heavy feeling in my chest. I knew it. I just knew it. I fell for the cute front!

"No, you can have a day off. Thursdays are offensively boring. I can use your help on Friday, though. Are you free then?"

"Yes, like I said, all day, every day."

"Okay, good. Marcus, do you need me to drop you off?"

"No, I'll be fine," he says, so she waves at us both and crosses the street to get into her car. I immediately start walking in the direction of my own home, but Marcus follows and falls in step beside me.

"So would tomorrow be good then?"

"No."

"But... you just got a day off..."

"I just remembered that I have something to do," I lie.

"What?"

"I... I have to... fix my sister's... curtains."

"Wow. And I thought I was bad at lying. Did I say something wrong?" he asks with a genuinely confused frown, and I hate myself for caving in and stopping with a sigh. I don't even owe him an explanation. It's his fault for being a 'persistent guy when it comes to getting into somebody's pants'!

"It's something your grandma said."

"What? What did she say?"

"That you... you know, you only want to get into my pants."

His face falls. "No, she— I'm not like that. She was just joking. I ask people out a lot, but not because... Look, I'm just really desperate."

I raise an eyebrow at him.

"With everyone punching me in the face because I'm annoying and say things I shouldn't say and with people telling me I'm clingy and immature, it's hard to find somebody that actually likes me."

"Wow, you're really laying everything on the table, huh?"

He looks away, as if he just realized what he actually said, but then he fucking owns up to it. "Yeah, I guess. I'm gross, too. I never wash my hands after I take a piss."

Before I know it, I'm laughing my ass off, and he only smiles, still clearly very embarrassed—I'm sure he hates his grandma—until he breaks out in laughter, too.

"Well, if we're being honest," I say to him when our laughter has died down, "I have serious trust issues. Hence the... you know."

"Yeah, I figured," he says. "It's okay. I've had sex like three times. I'm really not about that life."

"Do you ever wonder if you're being too honest?"

"All the time."

"Don't worry, I like it," I sigh. I really do...

"So how about that coffee?" he asks.

"Sure. I am free tomorrow after all."

He shows me his dimpled smile again.

We exchanged numbers, too, just for the heck of it, and he won't stop texting me. When I put my phone aside for half an hour just to take a shower, he literally asks me if I died. Yeah, I get the clingy part now. But it's cute. He doesn't make me feel like I'm obliged to talk to him or anything like that. He's just excited. Like a puppy.

When Suzie and Daniel ask me what happened after they left, I don't tell them a single thing, but again, they know me too well. The fact that I accidentally send them a text meant for Marcus doesn't really help either. I'm lucky it wasn't anything embarrassing.

Of course it doesn't take long for my sister to notice, either. She sinks down into the sofa beside me and asks, "So who's the lucky guy?"

"Marcus."

"Sexy," Gina says.

"Hands off," I tell her with a red face. I mean, he is pretty sexy...

She laughs, shaking her head. "Glad to see you're not afraid of boys anymore. Where did you meet him?"

"At work. He's my boss's grandson."

"Isn't that going to be a problem?" she asks with a frown, reaching for the remote control to switch channels when the TV starts playing ads. "With her being your boss and all?"

I shrug. "I don't think so. Lorette is cool."

"You might wanna ask her, though. Make sure she's cool with it."

I shift around in the sofa thoughtfully. That would probably be a good idea. She seems like the kind of person that doesn't like secrets, and I can definitely relate to that. If I think that there will be more than just one date, I'll tell her.

I'm reminded of her grandson's existence when my phone pings again and I open it to reply to the multitude of messages he sent. We aren't even really talking. We're just texting each other about everything and nothing and anything in between. How good his cup of coffee is, how stupid the shows on TV are, how much we're (mostly Marcus) looking forward to tomorrow, and how weird socks are. It's probably a huge waste of time, but I feel like, even if we're not really telling each other anything about ourselves, I'm getting to know him more than I ever could than by asking him about things like his favorite color.

And gosh, I think I like him.

We agreed to meet at a coffee shop, but when I get there, he's nowhere to be found. I sit down by the window and take out my sketchbook, making little doodles of the people that walk by, until I finally see Marcus coming up. I check the time—he's twenty minutes late—and quickly make a sketch of how he pushes his nose into the collar of his jacket, even though it's not cold at all. We're literally in the middle of summer, Marcus... Why does he do that?

When he sits down across from me, he says, "My professor is a dick. He made me late."

"It's okay. I don't mind waiting. I'm used to it." I turn my sketchbook around and ask, "Why do you do that?"

His eyes widen at the sight of the sketch. He carefully picks up the book and whispers, "Wow, you drew me? That's amazing."

I shrug. It's really not that great. I only had about thirty seconds.

"I don't know why I do that. I've always done it," he says, pushing his collar back up over his nose. "Maybe I just like smelling my own body odor."

I snort. "You look like a robber wannabe. A bad one."

"Well, I think I have a chance at a successful career, because I did just steal your sketchbook," he says, sticking it behind his back.

"I have about a hundred of them back home."

"I'd love to see those." He takes the sketchbook out again and asks, "Can I look at the other pages, too?"

"Go ahead. I'll get our coffee in the meanwhile, okay?"

"Oh, sure, I'll have..." He waves me off. "No, surprise me."

So I get him a girly drink, with the name 'idiot' on it, to which he only laughs and sips through the straw with a cheeky grin. I can't help but steal the sketchbook from him and make another sketch.

"I've been meaning to ask..."

"Yeah?" I reply while I try to focus on getting his dimples right.

"Grandma said you used to be an art student. Did you drop out?"

"No, I graduated."

"Oh," he says, surprised. "You're older than I thought."

"Should I be offended?"

"No, of course not. I'm just really bad at guessing people's ages. I thought you were about the same age as me."

"Which is?"

"Nineteen."

I look up from my sketchbook to stare at him. I knew that he's younger than me, but I didn't expect him to be... under twenty. "Really? I'm twenty-four."

"You look younger."

"Thanks, I guess," I laugh, looking down to hide my blush. I hate that I blush easily. It's so annoying. People just love comparing it to my red hair, as if I've never heard that before.

"Your drawings are amazing."

My cheeks grow even hotter.

"Grandma paints but she's more into abstract art. She's never painted me. I've never even seen her paint anyone, really..."

"To each their own. She seems like an abstract artist, now that I think about it. Do you do any kind of art?"

"I'm more into the technical side. Ask me to design something like a website, I'm your guy, but don't ever ask me to draw something."

"Draw something."

"No."

"Come on." I hand him the pencil and flip over an empty page for him. "Please. I'll make it easy on you. Draw this cup."

"Don't say I didn't I warn you. It's gonna look horrible." He sighs and bends down to peer at the cup, before putting the pencil to the paper, jabbing it almost straight through, and I immediately reach out to pluck it from his hand.

"Please don't kill my pencil. It's my favorite."

"You have a favorite pencil?"

"Yes, it has the perfect texture and softness for sketching. I've been buying it from your grandma for years."

"Then you can easily get a new one with your newly acquired employer discount," he teases, taking the pencil back to finish his drawing of my coffee cup.

And yeah, he's right. It does look horrible.

"This is the best thing I've ever drawn in my entire life!" he says proudly, and I have to hold my hand in front of my mouth to stop myself from bursting out laughing.

"Shut up," he says.

"Well, you got... the color right."

"It's literally in black and white, Randy," he splutters, laughing so hard he chokes and gets a coughing fit, which makes me break, too. People send us nasty glares, but we don't care. Marcus's misshapen coffee cup isn't even that funny, but for some reason, it's hilarious, and it's impossible to stop. He makes me promise I'll never ask him to draw anything ever again.

But he still wants to see my drawings, so I invite him over. And the fact that he only looks forward to my art and doesn't mention the fact that I'm inviting him over to my apartment—

It doesn't even occur to him, does it?

"Wow, your place looks really nice."

"We haven't even gotten to my apartment yet," I chuckle, holding the door to the stairwell open for him.

"Well, I mean, the building looks nice. Have you lived here long?"

"Hmm, about two years, I think? I used to live at home, but I wanted to move here for... reasons."

"Annoying parents?"

"No, just... stuff."

Fortunately, he leaves it at that. I don't really feel like telling him that the reason I left was because I wanted to get away from my ex, who's now one of my best friends, because irony. Zack may have made some stupid mistakes when he was my boyfriend, but he's a pretty good friend. Best to leave it at that. And on our way to the last set of stairs, we run into another ex of mine, because irony. I hate irony.

But Gray is nice and harmless and in a relationship with a guy who recently got out of cancer treatment, so I say hello, because I'm nice like that.

"Oh, hi," he says, looking up in surprise. His eyes go from me to Marcus, then back to me, but he doesn't say anything. He just stares.

"How's Seth doing?" I ask.

"Pretty good, actually."

"Oh, good, I'm happy to hear that," I say, before nudging Marcus along, and I tell Gray to have a good day.

While I quickly walk ahead to avoid any kind of interaction that could lead me to want death and a nice funeral with cake and pretty flowers, Marcus whispers, "Who was that and who's Seth?"

"Acquaintances."

"Yeah, I got that, but... You..." He sticks his hands in his pockets. "You don't really like telling people stuff, do you?"

"Not if it involves bad memories, no."

"Oh, okay."

Seconds later, I'm unlocking the door to my apartment and I push it open with a smile. "Welcome to my humble abode. Oh, wait, maybe my sister's home." I lean forward and yell her name, but there's no response. "She's probably out with her boyfriend."

"Does she look like you?"

"Why?"

He shrugs. "Just wondering. My brother doesn't look anything like me, so I always joke that he's adopted."

"That's mean."

He chuckles and sits down on my sofa, looking around curiously.

"She does look a lot like me. Most people even think we're twins, but she's a year younger. Do you want something to drink?"

"We just had coffee," he says.

"Ah... True."

He suddenly gets up again. "Where are you sketchbooks?"

"Uh, in my room. Why do you wanna see them so bad anyway?"

"I don't know. I just like how you draw. I wanna see more. It's really pretty. You should definitely do something with it. Sell stuff or something. I bet you could get a lot for it."

Cheeks, please stop. It's just a compliment!

"You blush a lot," he remarks.

"I know," I grumble, turning away from him, stomping over to my room. I open the drawers of my desk and tell him, "There you go. All my sketchbooks. The old and the new. Everything."

"Ooh." He picks up a random sketchbook and starts looking through it, asking me what the story behind every single drawing is, and it's kind of fun. Nobody is ever really this interested in my art. Sure, people stop and stare and ask me 'who's that?' when I'm not even drawing real people half of the time, but this is nice.

After we've gone through two sketchbooks, I hear my phone ringing in the living room, so I tell Marcus to make up his own stories while I take the call. It's probably Gina.

No, it's not. It's Zack. Because running into one ex wasn't good enough, was it? I just had to be bothered by another one. I pick up the phone with a deep sigh and he asks, "Wow, did I catch you at a bad time or something?"

"No, it's.. Never mind. What's up?"

"Well, I've got an interesting offer for you. At least, I hope you think it's interesting. My dad was telling me about how the people at his company need an artist, so when I brought you up, he asked me to ask you."

"What? What kind of artist?"

"I don't know. He told me to give you his number."

"I still have it."

"Oh, good. Call him then."

"But doesn't your dad work at a... It's not an artistic kind of place at all. Why the hell would they need an artist?"

"Randy, I honestly have no fucking clue, but he knows what kind of artist you are, so I'm sure you're qualified."

"I literally have no experience or a name whatsoever."

He groans in frustration. "Just call him."

"Okay, fine!"

"Good," he says, and before I can get another word in, he hangs up. Yep, he hasn't changed at all. Like I said, not boyfriend material, but at least he's a good friend. If it's true what he says, then he might have gotten me a really nice job. Freelance work, probably, so I won't have to quit working at the print shop. This day can't get any better.

"Who's Zack?"

I wheel around with wide eyes. "What?"

"These sketches," Marcus says, holding up one of my older sketchbooks. The one with nude sketches of Zack—

"Oh my God, don't look at those!" I screech, hurrying forward to snatch the book out of his hand. I can't believe I didn't think of hiding it before! I take back what I said! This day is terrible.

Marcus laughs softly. "Wow, you're really red."

"Yeah, you would be too, if I was looking at drawings you made of your ex-boyfriend!"

"Oh." He blinks. "Oh."

"Yes."

"I mean... Great catch. He looks good."

For a moment, I can only stare at him, but then I snort and laugh awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess. He was an asshole, though."

"The hot ones are always assholes," he sighs.

"You're not an asshole."

"Good to know you think I'm hot." He winks at me, before pointing at the phone in my hand. "Who called you?"

"Uh, Zack."

"Wow, you must hate your life."

"You have no idea," I chuckle. "No, I'm... I'm just kidding. We're friends. It's fine."

"So what's the story behind those sketches?"

"I drew him like one of my French girls," I reply, rolling my eyes.

"We should do that sometime."

I do draw him, but not naked. He's just making the silliest faces he can to challenge me. I got an empty sketchbook just for him, because he insisted on it, and it was apparently also necessary for him to write his own name on the cover. So now it says 'Marcus' on the red front page, with a happy face and an evil one.

"Is this a good face?" he asks, raising his eyebrows so high and widening his eyes so much it looks like he just saw a ghost.

"Perfect," I tell him, chuckling. "Wait." I lift my hand and reach forward to pull his mouth open, and I don't even realize what I'm doing until I look back up to see his fake expression has been replaced by genuine shock.

I bite my lip, feeling my face grow hot.

Okay, yes, I touched him. In the most cliché way possible. The lip thing. God... The fact that he's so affected by it is kinda funny and... endearing. Would it be weird if I kissed him on our first date, if that's even what this is anymore? It's been forever since I kissed someone, and it's been even longer since I kissed someone I actually liked...

Oh, what the hell.

I lean forward and press my lips on his.

The sound he makes is... hysterical. I can't stop myself from laughing right in front of his face and he squeezes his eyes shut, freckled cheeks turning pink. "Sorry," he chokes out.

"No, it's—" I can't help myself. I snort again. "What was that?"

"Me being surprised! What happened to your trust issues?"

Well, it might be stupid, but...

"I trust you," I tell him.

"What if you can't trust me?"

"Marcus." I let out a sigh. "Don't ruin it."

"Sorry. You can trust me."

"Then shut up and let me kiss you."

He laughs and murmurs something unintelligible, before leaning forward to meet my lips once again. I bring my hands up to his head and pull him closer, moving my lips against his, slowly getting addicted to the feeling of the softness and warmth of them. Maybe that's secretly why he hides half of his face in his jacket. To keep his lips so perfectly kissable.

But when I feel my sketchbook sliding off my leg to fall on the floor and we break apart to take a breath and make our eyes meet, I know that—even if this was without a doubt the right thing to do—I'm still absolutely terrified.

"Marcus..." I take a deep breath. "I think... I... I'm—"

He shushes me. "It's a brave thing to say... that you trust me, but I don't expect you to. At least, not now."

With burning cheeks, I look down and nod. "I'd like to."

"I know. Let's just... take it slow."

When I look at him again, he's smiling and I can't help but return the smile. We both know that this was definitely not our last date, and I'm looking forward to the next one, a lot.

"I went on a date with Marcus."

Lorette chokes on her coffee.

I mumble an apology and readjust the pens on the counter as she hits her chest and coughs to get the drink out of her throat, but when she can finally breathe again, she only says, "Well, congratulations, but why did I need to know that?"

"Just thought I'd tell you in case you had a problem with it."

"Most people wouldn't tell their boss for that very reason, Randy."

I shrug. I knew she wouldn't have a problem with it.

"Ah, well, I suppose it's good that you're honest with me," she sighs. "Then let me be honest with you too. He's a sweet boy, so don't go too hard on him. I know he can be a bit of a handful sometimes."

"Don't worry," I tell her with a smile, and that seems to be enough. She returns the smile, and when a customer comes up to the counter, we go back to work like nothing happened. And she just tells me what to do and I just tell her what I'm doing, like we've been doing for the past week.

Until she suddenly asks me, "Did you have fun?"

"What?"

"During your date."

I blink in surprise. "Oh... Yeah, it was... a lot of fun. Why?"

"Well, I noticed that you are quite the silent type—maybe even a little broody. You know I've seen you coming in here for years and you always seemed kind of sad, so it's good to know that you had fun. I hope that you and Marcus... I hope you find happiness together."

Curse my burning cheeks. "That's very kind of you, Lorette."

"Don't mention it," she says, before reaching out to push my head down. "Now go sort those boxes."

Zack's father needs someone to draw portraits. The moment he mentions this, I perk up, excited beyond words. No concept art, no design, no abstractionism, nothing I can't or don't want to do—just plain old portraits. I can definitely do that!

"How much will I get for it?" I ask George carefully.

"That's for you to decide. We do have a budget, but only you know how long it will take to work on the project and how much money and effort it will cost you, so if you just try to make yourself a little schedule or whatever and a sum, we'll see if it suits us."

Wow, I get to decide for myself? Maybe I should ask them a ridiculous amount of money just to see if they'd do it...

"When is the deadline?"

"Well, like I said, the anniversary event is a little less than a year from now, so I think you'll have plenty of time to finish. It's on the... uh..." I hear rustling papers in the background, before he returns the phone to his ear. "It's on the fifteenth of June."

"Oh, alright. That seems fair. So how many portraits are we talking? And, uh... in what style?"

"As for the style, you'll have to speak with the boss, since it's his idea, so I'll set up a meeting for you. The plan is that you make portraits of all the people with high functions. That's about, umm... thirty-five, maybe forty people. Something like that."

Yikes. That's quite a lot of portraits. Still, it should be doable in nine months. Especially now that I don't have any classes anymore.

"Okay."

"Can you do that?"

"I think so," I say, nodding, even though he can't see it. "It depends on what style your boss wants. If he wants inked portraits I could be done in a few months—maybe even weeks—but if he wants them painted it'll take a lot longer. I think the given time is enough, though."

"Hold on. I'll go see if he's free right now, so I can ask him."

"Okay."

I hear a door opening and an instant rush of voices and ringing telephones, until George finally reaches his boss's office. "Excuse me, is Mr. Sharp currently in a meeting?"

"No, go on in," answers a female voice.

"Thank you," and a few seconds later, "Good afternoon, Albert, I have the artist on the phone."

"Oh, fantastic! Put him on speakerphone."

"Very well." A beep. "Randy, you had a question."

"Uh, yes..." I clear my throat. "I was wondering what you'd want the portraits to look like, sir. Like, the style... or material?"

"Oh, that's an excellent question. I don't know much about material, but I want them to look professional and I want them to resemble the employees, but they don't have to be super realistic. I wouldn't want to restrict you too much in your creativity, so... you can do whatever you like, as long as they look consistent and the people in the portraits are recognizable. Does that suffice?

"Yes, I can definitely work with that," I reply with a smile. "I'm already looking forward to it."

"That's good to hear!" Mr. Sharps laughs heartily. "How about this, Randy? Why don't we start with a portrait of our dear George and see if we're all happy with the result and work our way up from there?"

"Sounds great!"

Marcus makes a surprised sound when I jump up to give him a hug. "I listened to your advice, Marcus! I got a job!"

"W-what?" He almost falls over under my weight. "What are you... talking about? I thought you were working with my grandma. And you are surprisingly... heavy."

I let go and scoff, "You're only like an inch or two taller than me."

"Yeah, but you're... thin."

"And tall."

"Okay, okay, I get it, you're tall."

I laugh and finally pull open the door to the coffee shop—the same as the one we went to last time, for the sake of convenience. "I didn't say it was a good thing."

"Then why do you act so offended if being tall is, according to you, not a good thing?" he asks while we walk inside together.

"Because I kinda like being a tall twink," I whisper at him. "Breaking stereotypes and all that."

He snorts. "There are more than enough tall twinks in the world. That's not breaking any stereotypes."

"Shush, let me have this."

"Well, at least I know what to expect in the bedroom now."

I smack his arm with a red face. "Don't say stuff like that in public, Marcus! I don't— Whatever. Let's get back on topic. I'm not quitting the print shop. It's a freelance job. I'm gonna make art for a company and I'm gonna get a shit ton of money for it."

His eyes go wide. "That's amazing, Randy! Tell me about it!"

So, with a cup of coffee in our hands, I tell him all about my first, real freelance job. He's the first one I'm telling all this—apart from Lorette, because she needed to know that I won't be coming in every single day anymore. Not even Gina, or Daniel and Suzie, or Zack, though I'm sure he's heard from his father already.

"You should make another portrait, of me, and then hand it in with the others and see if they put it up," Marcus says, grinning joyfully.

"That's stupid."

He pouts.

"I doubt they'll fall for it, but sure, I'll make you a portrait."

Now he's smiling again. Ah, he's too damn cute for this world. Every time he smiles, I can't stop myself from smiling too. It's contagious! He's contagious!

After we've finished our drinks, Marcus asks if I'd like to see his apartment, and I wouldn't dare say no. It's just as messy as I thought it'd be. He's kicking his underwear under the bed when I walk in, but I don't say a word. College is stressful. Very stressful. I know what that's like. My room looked like this too, when I was nineteen.

While he attempts to clean things up, I inspect the walls and find a calendar. His birthday is less than three weeks away... "Are you going to throw a party?"

"What?" He looks over to see me standing by the calendar. "Oh, uh, I guess. I don't really want to throw one of those parties where a bunch of strangers show up, so I'll probably just invite some friends."

"Am I invited?"

"Yeah, if you wanna come, of course."

"Sure I do. Just text me a time and place and I'll be there."

Bad idea.

I should have asked Marcus if I could bring Suzie and Daniel, because I know literally nobody in the room. They're all like five years younger than me—clearly all college friends from Marcus's year—and I feel very out of place. Marcus said hello to me and took my gift (a gift card to some store he wastes all his money on, which I've never heard of, but he's utterly ecstatic) but after that, he has no choice but to leave me alone and talk to his other guests.

I sit on a chair and look around and text Suzie, until somebody comes to sit beside me, so I put my phone aside out of politeness. It's a short, blond guy with... strangely dark eyes for his complexion. He holds out his hand and says, "Hello, I'm Brayden."

Oh, Brayden. Marcus's best friend. I shake his hand and tell him, "Nice to meet you. I'm Randolph."

"Oh, you're the boyfriend. I mean, I figured, since you're one of the few here that I don't know, but—"

"I-I'm not his boyfriend."

Brayden stares at me for the longest time and I'm starting to feel uncomfortable under his gaze until he finally says, "So you're telling me that you, the oh-so-amazing guy Marcus won't stop talking about, are not in a relationship with him?"

"No, not yet..."

"Well, what are you waiting for?! He loves you, dude. Look, I know he told me you're insecure about some shit, but he's a good guy, so what are you so afraid of?"

"Well, I... I..."

"Okay, I got you." Suddenly, he pulls me up from the chair and drags me across the room. "Hey, Marcus!"

Oh my God...

Marcus looks up, eyes widening when he sees me dangling behind helplessly, and asks, "What's going on?" But Brayden only pushes me in front of him and says, "Marcus Talley and Randolph... whatever the fuck your last name is: I pronounce you boyfriend and boyfriend."

"Wow, thanks for outing me, Brayden."

"Shut up, you know everyone knows."

From the lack of reactions, I suppose he's right.

My face is red. If there's one thing I hate more than jumping into relationships when I don't even know if I'm ready or not, it's doing it in public. But I can't just ruin the moment and say I don't want to be his boyfriend, because... that'd be a lie. I do want to have a proper relationship with Marcus. He makes me happy...

He steps forward and grabs one of my hands, smiling apologetically."Sorry, Randy. Brayden is a bit of a—"

"No, it's fine." I smile, murmuring, "Wanna be my boyfriend?"

After a moment of complete silence, he starts grinning blindingly. "I thought you'd never ask."

So happy.

He lets go of my hand to give me a hug. The tightest hug I've ever been given in my entire life. (And Zack gives some really fucking tight hugs—the scumbag.) But no one around us is satisfied with just a hug and they all yell at us to kiss instead. Marcus chuckles awkwardly, waving them away. "Come on, guys, that's private—"

So I shut him up with a kiss, and he melts under my touch.

So very happy.