The following week, I decide it's time to really hunker down and take this grown-up thing seriously. It's time I stop depending on my parents for a monthly allowance and their washing machine. So, that's how I find myself printing off copies of my resume and then taking a stroll downtown, handing in the form to every store in the town center.

I'm dressed in my frumpiest sweat pants and a coat that looks like it was torn from the back of a Zebra. It's fake, and everyone knows it, but it's so incredibly warm. Warmth always outweighs style when it's five degrees outside. With black earmuffs in place, I meander down sidewalks, stuffing my resume under the door of shops that are closed and entering the ones that are open.

"Hi," I greet one store employee, scanning the shelves of supplements, essential oils, and creepy crystals cluttering the shop. "Are you hiring?"

The woman stops midway through opening a box and lifts heavily-coated lashes toward me. Her tongue slips from her mouth to trail along her cherry-tinted bottom lip and then she smiles.

"Nope." Then with a dismissive wave of her taloned fingers, she grins widely and returns to her task.

I pucker my lips to the side, both disturbed by her behavior and awed by it. To be both bubbly and rude at the same time is actually quite impressive. I can't even find it in myself to be bothered by it. Instead, I mutter an 'alrighty' and step back into the lung-shattering cold.

The next shop I enter is warm from the moment I step through the door. Not just in temperature but in ambiance. The room is divided into several sections. There's a living room, a dining room, and a bedroom. The furniture displayed in each is done with an artistic eye. Pillows accent each room with bright colors and plants sit perched on side tables and shelves. Candles line the wall opposite the main counter and scent the air with cinnamon, vanilla, warm bread, and cloves.

In short, this place is most people's nightmare. Every flat surface is holding a lamp or some kind of handmade nicknack. The aisles are so small you'd practically have to sample the furniture just to let someone else pass, and they'd have to do it while maneuvering around the chandeliers hanging overhead. It's cluttered and messy and stuffy.

But, to me, this is beautiful.

I small hunched woman shuffles from the back of the store, her eyes on the ground as she maneuvers around displays and furniture. When she reaches the front desk, she begins humming something under her breath as she bends to grab a small cloth out from underneath the counter.

"Hello," I say, stepping forward and nearly scaring the poor woman into her grave.

"Oh!" Her voice wobbles. "Hun, you frightened me?" She chuckles to herself. "How can I help you today?"

"I was wondering if you might be hiring?"

Her shoulders perk up and she holds a finger up. "Stay right here. I'll be back in a moment."

I nod, rotating in a slow circle as my eyes linger on items I'd missed during my first glance of the place. About a minute later, the woman returns; a taller, younger woman behind her.

"Hi!" the tall woman greets, "I'm Becky. This is my mother Sheryl," she points to the hunched woman, "My husband and I own the shop and were just discussing the possibility of hiring. Would you be able to interview today?"

"Today?" I echo, "Like, right now?" I glance down at my attire and mentally chastise myself for not dressing up a little more.

When I glance up Becky is smiling at me like she knows exactly what I'm thinking. There's something about her that seems so down to earth. She's not concerned about my Zebra coat and sweats. She's looking for someone who has good character, not good fashion sense.

"Sure," I finally say, grinning at her.

And that is how I get my first college job. My hours are incredibly flexible. Basically, I only have to work Saturday mornings. The rest of the time I can just swing by for an hour here or there. As I leave, promising to be there bright and early Saturday morning, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket for what must be the fifth time since stepping into the shop.

Pulling it from my pocket, I'm surprised to find all of them from Seth. A zing of panic slices through my chest and I quickly scroll through his texts, my body relaxing as I read each one.

I'm dropping out.

Two minutes later: I want to be a scuba diving pizza delivery man instead.

Seven minutes later: Is it absolutely necessary to eat pancakes with syrup... all I have is chocolate milk.

Two minutes later: Yes, it's necessary.

His most recent text reads: I want pizza.

I check the time on my phone and find that it's barely even nine-thirty. Part of me is tempted to buy a pizza and swing by Seth's place, but I'm practicing self-control. I'm stronger than this. So, instead, I send a gif of a sloth delivering a pizza and tuck my phone away. I feel a response a minute later, but don't look at it until I get back to my room.

Can you imagine if sloth's really delivered pizzas! You'd have to order days in advance.

I chuckle, my thumbs hovering over the screen. Yeah, I text, You'd never be able to order pizza on a whim again.

Our texting continues on through the day and throughout the entire next week. By Tuesday, I'm wondering why we're even going through the trouble of not seeing each other. I've never texted anyone as much as Seth and I have the past few days. I've started to notice a theme with his texts though. It began with his, 'I want to go apple picking this summer... you think we'll be hanging out by then?' and then slowly it became more obvious...

I think I want a pet fish

I named my pocket knife Besnick

Uh... so I just made a four-course meal

Why do people like Dawson's Creek?

Would it be weird if I went and got a pedicure?

After class on Wednesday, I'm walking back to my dorm when I feel the device vibrate in my back pocket. I have to take my mitten off in order to unlock the screen and I swear those three seconds nearly give me frostbite.

Glancing at my messages, I'm not surprised to find several from Seth. I guess he must have been texting me throughout class and I hadn't realized it. His first message is a picture of a pug staring out the window with the caption 'when you gonna come around?' printed across the top. I put a fist to my mouth, chuckling as the theme of Seth's messages becomes blatantly clear. The last one is a picture of a dripping wet cat, eyes bulging in desperation with the words 'Save Me!' written underneath.

Are you not getting enough attention today? I text back, smiling as I hit send.

His response is immediate: No.

The simple response is followed by an image of Puss in Boots, his large pleading eyes staring back at me.

Not sure how an image manages to make me feel guilty, but as I hit reply to tell him I have another class in twenty minutes and can't help, I feel the unfamiliar emotion slither into my veins.

Another meme pops up, this time the cat staring back at me is angry and unimpressed, the words "Nuh uh... no," in large bold letters. Before I can respond, he sends another text. One without pictures this time.

Can we please hang out tonight?

I drag a loud breath in through my nose, clenching my fingers tightly around the device in my hand. If only I were stronger. I need more self-control, but I'm maxed out and absolutely desperate to hear his voice.

Maybe, I respond. What about Jamison or Shonice?

I get his response as I enter my dorm building.

Jamison is sick and Shonice said my neediness is causing her physical pain, so she's out.

I laugh into my coat sleeve, pushing the up arrow on the elevator. I consider how to respond as I ride up to my floor. As much as I'm dying to be with him, I'm also trying to create some space. What am I supposed to do when the guy I love is the one who first suggested taking a break and now won't leave me alone? I mean, not that I'm complaining... but, why?

I get to my room and swing the door open. Emma's perched on the edge of her mattress, laughing about something. It's only when I push the door open further that I see who she's having such a good time with. Trevor is sitting in Emma's desk chair facing my bed, Seth having paused his story, mouth still open, as he sits on a pile of clothes strewn across my bed that I hadn't bothered putting away.

"Mercy!" Emma greets, standing and giving me a forceful hug, my arms stuck to my sides as she swings me gently in her embrace.

I grunt into her shoulder and hear her laugh at my dramatic reaction to being squished by her.

"I missed you!" she mutters, and I feel something warm swell in my chest. I've never felt so needed before. "But, we gotta go." She drops her arms and turns to Trevor, motioning for him to follow her out. "Nice officially meeting you, Seth. I'm sure we'll see you around."

"For sure," he agrees, standing when Emma and Trevor leave the room.

Now it's just the two of us and I'm feeling this intense need to bury myself beneath all the clothes on my bed. Seth isn't supposed to be here. He's supposed to be avoiding me, giving himself space to figure out the drama in his life. This... this is the very opposite of what we both agreed upon.

He takes a step closer, and then another... his hand reaching toward my face. I stop breathing, waiting as his fingers approach, and then bypass my cheek, sliding into my hair. My chest constricts, pulse jumping against my throat. I watch his eyes follow the movement of his hand, my lungs struggling to function properly at his nearness, and then he yanks, and I swear he's just ripped a chunk of hair from my head.

"Ouch," I hiss, jolting away from him.

"Sorry," he mutters, reaching toward me, "Shoot, I'm so sorry. I thought it was a wad of fluff or paper or something," he admits, reaching for my hair again.

"What is it?" I ask, pulling away from him, fearful that he'll tug it again. I lift my hand up, reaching for the place Seth's hand had been a moment ago, only to be met with the predictably sticky texture I'd imagined finding there. "Oh, Emma," I groan, shaking my head.

"What is it?" Seth questions, stepping to the side to get a better view of the side of my head. "Oh..." He nods once, slowly, as recognition dawns on him. "Okay... so, what do we do?"

The panic on his face shatters any concern I'd felt for my own hair and I find myself doubled over, clutching my stomach as I fight back waves of laughter. Seth just stands there, clueless as to how he should respond, but I can see the smile tugging his lips.

"Oh gosh," I wheeze, "you said confused Mercy was cute, but I don't think you've ever seen yourself."

He blinks at me, brows lifting in question as he lifts a hand to his face. "What?" he mutters, running his fingers across his cheeks and then down over his lips as if trying to feel his expression. I let my eyes follow the movement, still working to gain my composure.

Standing upright, I shake my head, not in the mood to explain why I find him so adorable right now. Instead, I take a steadying breath and lift my hand again to feel for the wad of gum.

"Can you get it out?" I ask, stepping toward him and turning so he can get a better view of the mess in my hair.

"Uh..." he hesitates, fingers hovering over the strands, and then from the corner of my eye, I see his fist move to his mouth as a horrified gasp leaves his lips. "Oh, Mercy..."

When people say 'Oh, Mercy' with that tone in their voice, I know it's never good. I can feel my pulse accelerate again, and this time it has nothing to do with Seth's nearness.

"You, uh..." He shakes his head, cupping his mouth in his hand and squeezing his lips together while he assesses the damage. "Your roommate is a savage," he concludes, reaching for a lock of hair and gentle tugging at the substance stuck in it. "There's way more in here than I thought. I'm finding one, two, three... four wads of gum in here."

"Four!" My hands lift to my head on their own, anxiously fingering the strands for the unwanted blobs. "Explains the weird hug she gave me. She must have just been sitting there waiting for me."

"Yeah," he nods. "I just assumed she didn't trust me alone in here." He laughs. "Also explains why she kept stuffing more gum in her mouth. I just thought it kept losing flavor."

I groan at the ceiling, checking the time on my phone and realizing I've only got ten minutes to get to class.

"Will you be here in an hour?" I ask, turning to face him.

"Would you like me to be?"

I smile, enjoying the look of hope gleaming in his eyes. "Yes. I'm gonna need someone to help me get all of this out."

"Okay." He nods, settling back down on my bed and pulling his phone from his pocket. "I won't move a muscle."

With no other option, I carefully twist my hair up onto my head and slide a beanie over it. This will keep curious glances away from my new hairdo, at least. With a quick wave at Seth, I leave the room, booking it to class. Usually, it's a class I somewhat enjoy, but today, I can't stop thinking about the devastation going on in my hair and Seth waiting for me in my room. It makes for the longest lecture in history.

"So," he says, standing up from my bed the moment I enter my room again an hour later, "I definitely moved a muscle."

I glance around at the bags sitting on my bed and then turn a questioning look in his direction.

"I got a few things," he explains, shoving his hands into his pockets, "to, uh... fix the damage." He juts his chin toward my hair and then turns around to pull out all the items.

There's peanut butter, toothpaste, rubbing alcohol, make-up remover, coconut oil, a large bag of ice, toothpaste, and a few other food items.

"I wasn't sure which Reddit advice to go with," he tells me, "so I just bought all the recommendations. Supposedly, peanut butter is the best, but a couple of users got into a pretty heated debate over toothpaste and ice too, so..." He shrugs.

"And marshmallows?" I question, pulling out a bag of the sweet fluffy snacks.

"Oh," he leans forward, his shoulder brushing my abdomen as he searches through the bags and eventually pulls a package of chocolate and a box of graham crackers from the depths of one of them. "I guess I wanted S'mores."

"Makes sense." I tear the bag open and shove a marshmallow into my mouth. "So, how should we go about this?" I mumble, pointing at my hair.

"Well," he says, glancing at all his purchases, "this might get pretty messy, so... I don't know. Maybe grab a towel and wrap it around your shoulders?"

Messy is a massive understatement. It's so disastrous that we eventually move the gum-removal process to the shower. Still fully clothed, I pull the towel around my shoulders again and sit, knees hugged to my chest, while Seth kneels down on the rug outside the shower. His fingers stroke my hair gently as he massages coconut oil into the strands.

"I almost need a comb for this," he says, still working to remove the gunk. "Do you have one?"

"Um..." I turn just enough to get a view of the cabinet and then nod, "yeah, actually. You might find one in there."

He wipes his hands on the towel around my shoulders and then stands. I watch him rummage through the cabinet before finding a pick that we agree should work just as well. Then he gets back to work. We're both quiet now as he carefully removes strings of gum. My eyes remain fixed on the tiles across from me, noticing that the shower is due for a good cleaning.

I'm jolted from my thoughts when Seth's fingers suddenly graze the nape of my neck. My body goes rigged and the air seems to turn into molasses—thick and heavy around us—but Seth doesn't seem to notice. He continues massaging, picking, and oiling my hair.

"Got one," he says, voice low and gravelly from not speaking for an entire ten minutes. Then his hands move just below my ears, his fingers resting against my jaw as he carefully turns my head. "Three to go."

It takes nearly forty minutes to remove the rest of the gum and my butt cheeks are completely numb from being pressed into the tile for almost an hour. I'm so ready to stand up as soon as Seth announces that he thinks he got it all, but then he starts playing with my hair and my entire body relaxes into the tiles again. I'm not even sure if he's intentionally playing with it, or if he's just combing through it to make sure he got everything, but the sensation that's scurrying across my scalp every time he slides this fingers through the strands is so magnificent that I'd risk nerve damage in my butt just to keep experiencing it.

My eyes are closed, lost in my own world of bliss when he suddenly stops. My eyes flutter open, but I don't move because I can still feel him behind me. One of his hands is still playing with the ends of my hair, making me wonder what he might be thinking.

"I miss you."

I swear every organ in my body freezes, unable to function for several seconds as his words drift into my brain. Why is he admitting this? We're supposed to be figuring ourselves out apart from each other, but it's clear from all the texting and the unannounced visit today that he's not doing too well with it.

"Seth," I whisper, managing to get my muscles to come back to life as I scoot forward just enough to turn around. My eyes drink him in. He looks so relaxed, one leg bent, his arm resting on his knee, and the other leg stretched out parallel to the shower.

"How long are we going to do this for?" he asks, gaze lifting to meet mine. His eyes look darker in this windowless room, but I see no humor woven into the olive tones. Rather, his brows are dipped in thought as he watches me, assessing the emotions displayed on my face.

"I don't know," I shrug, tucking my oily, peanut butter hair behind my ear. It's hard not to be distracted by the smells hovering around my head.

"I'm realizing something," he starts to say, dropping his arm from his knee and placing it behind him on the floor so he can lean back.

"Oh yeah?" I question, feeling my lips tug upward when a spark of mirth flits across his face. "What's that?"

He takes a deep breath, reaching forward to wipe his hands on my towel again before leaning back. "I've realized that this is stupid."

He points between us and I have to hold myself together to keep from exploding into a mess of confusion and overemotional questions. What in the world does that mean? We're a mistake? Our relationship is stupid?

He doesn't seem to notice the turmoil going on inside of me because he casually clears his throat and continues. "I can't keep doing this," he admits and my heart stutters in my chest, threatening to give out.

"Can't keep doing what?" I ask, forcing the question out of my tight throat.

"This," he says, motioning between us again. "The avoiding. It's turned all of this into another game. Like I can't even leave my dorm without checking to make sure I won't bump into you first. I hate it. I don't want to avoid you anymore. I like you, Mercy!" There's a passion in his tone that leaves me paralyzed. "I like being around you and I don't want to spend any more time pretending that I don't. You're my friend—maybe even my best friend," he shrugs like that admission isn't the biggest deal on the planet. My heart is thundering beneath my ribs, but he keeps going. "I'm going out of my mind."

I start to laugh, covering my mouth with a hand. "Seth," I start to say, warmth spreading into my chest, "it's barely been a week."

"Exactly!" he says, exasperated. "It's been way too long. I think we're done."

"Done with what exactly?" I ask, a playful smile on my lips.

"The distance." He leans forward, propping his arm on his knee again. "I'm done keeping my distance. So, if you still want to do this whole thing—the staying away from each other thing—then you might want to start wearing disguises to class and setting booby traps outside your door because I'm not leaving you alone."

I tap my chin, thoughtful. "You know... I'm not sure if that's meant to be sweet or creepy."

"Hmm." He mimics my chin tapping and then nods a couple of times. "I vote sweet."

I laugh, hitting his arm playfully. But he's stealthier than I predicted and before I manage to pull away, he's snagged my hand in his, weaving his fingers between mine. It's one fluid motion. Smooth. Timed to perfection. It sends a fire into my bloodstream that flashes down my arm and into my heart, zapping it into a frenzy. All teasing from seconds before has vanished as Seth's brows scrunch into contemplation as he studies our hands. When his eyes meet mine, there's an intensity in them that makes me feel completely exposed. He's dissecting my expression, looking for clues as to how I feel.

"Just think about it," he says, smiling as he squeezes my hand once and then releases his hold. Then he stands, collects his bags of supplies, and leaves.

---

Do you think they're better as friends or is there still hope for some romance?