☆

[y/n]

_

HE'S PERFECTLY IMPERFECT.

Even though it's only been a day in this reality, those are the words that describe my entire being—and most importantly—this situation. The shift. The friendship I've apparently stumbled into with Louis. Everything.

Here's why: It's perfect, because I have him. He doesn't hate me, and he even gave me his number to continue talking to him after the day had passed over. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

And it's also imperfect, because I can't help but feel something's wrong.

See what I mean? He has a girlfriend (who, as the world would have it, is not me), but that's not something I can control. It's wrong because I feel like I'm intruding on something I shouldn't be intruding on—maybe his relationship, to be specific,—but that doesn't explain the rest either. The two things I can't explain.

THE BLINK.

Horrible timing, really. I'm calling it the blink, because it's a blank portion of time that I can't cover. I went downstairs to make tea, but I missed the part where Louis must have seen something to make the situation awkward. I know when something is off, thanks to my overthinking mind, and this was off.

Extremely off. So, what did he see?

No, even worse—what does he know?

Onto the next question we go:

THE MESSAGE.

Even all three previous shifts wouldn't have prepared me for this one.

Boogawooga. Anyways, what are your thoughts on Romeo and Juliet?

Oh, he wants to know my thoughts?

ON ROMEO AND JULIET?

Kill me now, honestly, because what the actual hell? He sent me that text out of the blue, and I nearly had a heart attack. That was the play I put on in my first shift, where I was a stage-manager, and Louis was Romeo. Maybe it was a coincidence, or maybe my mind is messing with my shift.

Oh no, wait.

Now that thought is stuck in my head. What if something is happening back in my reality, and all these tidbits of information are seeping into my dreams and polluting it with all my previous memories? It seems impossible, but it's the only explanation for the message.

Still, it doesn't explain what he saw in 'the blink'.

Hm.

Interesting.

Figuring this out is going to take a lot of effort and a lot of time, and I don't know if there is something to figure out in the first place.

This is all too confusing.

Seriously.

─ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─

Since you all wanted to play detectives...did you catch the clue?

Don't worry if you didn't, I made this one pretty hard.

Good luck ;)

─ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─

BZZ!

I snapped out of my thoughts when my phone buzzed, rushing to pick it up from the kitchen counter. My parents were still sleeping upstairs—exhausted from the night shifts at the hospital, you know—so I was alone in front of the fridge.

Until someone texted me.

Until Louis texted me.

Bored, the message read, are you busy today?

No, of course I'm not busy, you idiot. I'm in a shift and I can miss school, because none of it is real and I'm just here to see if you'd like me for who I was. Yadda', yadda', yadda' (don't get me wrong, it's not good to drop my education, but what was the point in going if I was just shifting?).

Except I'm not going to say that.

Nope, I responded instead, not busy.

He messaged back instantly. Issie has left over canvases from her art project, so I thought we could do some painting by the Thames.

You paint? I asked.

Of course not.

I smiled at his last text, clicking off my phone and hurrying back to my room. Painting by the thames? Sounds intriguing. I'll figure out what's going wrong later—if something even is going wrong—because maybe things are going right, for once.

I might not know it.

─ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─

LOUIS MET ME BY THE BUS STOP AN HOUR LATER

If I wanted to say something, I would have said it was officially our 'meeting place', but I didn't. That might have made things awkward, and I didn't want another 'Blink' incident happening again where the tension in the room got unbearable.

"Here," he had said, holding out a small container.

I had taken it from his hands, looking it over. It was a box of mushrooms. Well, not just any mushrooms.

"Considering you're Tewks to me now," he continued, "I bought you some of the mushrooms he was talking about with Enola in the field."

"Agaricus lanipes," I smiled, gasping under my breath, "Thank you, Lou."

The next thing I knew, we were sitting under the shade of a charming cafe table, sketching portraits of each other. It was my idea, really. I was glad he agreed, snatching up his pencils with a smile on his face. We sat there for what felt like seconds, but was actually a few hours of the afternoon and a few blissful moments.

"Are you done?" He asked, peering over his canvas.

I glanced up at him. "Nearly."

"Give me a time estimate."

"Five minutes?"

He let out a dramatic sigh, flipping his painting over on the table so that I couldn't catch a glimpse of what might be on it. I actually put a lot of effort into mine, so I was hoping he'd like it—and maybe keep it if he wanted.

"Mind if I order a tea, then?" He asked, blinking innocently.

I nodded, still invested in my drawing. "Go ahead."

I focused on fixing the sketch's edges, relining the outlines in the red crayon he had given me, occasionally glancing up to look at the patient boy across the table from me. He had waved over a waiter and was explaining what he wanted to order.

I wasn't listening until he said this:

"Raspberry-Peach tea, please," he nodded, "thank you."

I immediately stopped drawing.

That was purely a coincidence, right? He couldn't possibly like the same tea as before. That was just something I scripted, not something that could possibly be real. Coincidence, [y/n], that's all it is.

Louis noticed my tense expression.

"Why are you giving me that look?" he said, a smile playing on his lips, "don't worry, I'll try not to spill any on you."

Something's wrong.

Something's very wrong, there's no way that can be just a silly phrase he tossed out into the conversation—could it? Maybe it could, but I didn't know what to think. My heart was beating faster, and faster, and faster by the second, and I didn't know what else to do but panic.

"I'm done," I said quickly, holding out my painting, "with the portrait."

Louis looked taken aback. "I thought you said five minutes?"

"Well, it's done now."

Smiling, the boy took the canvas from my hands, eyeing it with pride with each second he let it sink in. I wondered what he was thinking—what did he know? What did he see?—no, stop overreacting, [y/n].

It's a coincidence, nothing more.

─ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─

─ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─

"This is brilliant," he said in awe, "I didn't know you were an artist."

"I'm not," I shrugged, "I just picked up a few things when sketching flowers for my botany studies."

"I'm scared to show you mine, now."

"Hey!" I frowned, "I promise I won't laugh."

"Who said you were going to laugh at it?"

I smirked, sinking into the back of my chair in amusement. Lou rolled his eyes in jest, flipping over his own canvas and sliding it across the table. I took one look at it and hesitated.

─ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─

─ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─

Then I started laughing.

"I'm so sorry!" I giggled, doubling over in my chair, "that's bloody awful!"

Louis stuck out his tongue. "You just don't have taste!"

"That's a stick figure!"

"And?"

The boy pretended to act all offended about it, but I noticed him chuckling under his breath as I tried not to fall out of my seat from laughter. I wasn't sure what I was expecting when I suggested we draw each other—I just wasn't expecting a stick figure saying 'my name is tewks! I like plants'.

"Laugh all you want," he grinned, holding up my drawing in his hand, "but I'm keeping the one you drew of me."

I smiled, letting my amusement subside to bask in the compliment he threw my way. I was happy he liked it. Truly, I was. And even when the waiter came over with his Raspberry-Peach tea, I didn't stop smiling, nearly forgetting about the worries that had been growing in the back of my mind all morning.

Maybe they really were just coincidences.