“You want some, Lo?” My name on King’s lips intensifies it that much more.

I try to shake my head, but my neck is too stiff to make it appear natural. “No thanks, I’m good.”

“No, dish her up some of that. If she hasn’t had your food yet, she needs to check this out,” Parker insists.

“It’s okay, really. I need to get heading home, anyway.”

“Hot date?” Parker’s lips are still curled in the same familiar smile I’ve seen him wear since my first day.

“No, Charleigh and I are going to hit up an art store.”

“When are we going to meet Charleigh?” Parker asks.

“Yeah. When are we going to meet Charleigh?” I raise my eyebrows, meeting King’s stare. His head is tilted slightly to the left and his chin lowered just enough that I can tell he’s annoyed. Blinking several times, I try to gain a cohesive thought and shrug as the microwave beeps. Thankfully Parker takes a step forward, breaking the path of King’s stare.

I move to where my sweatshirt is folded over the back of a wooden stool and pull it over my head, bringing a shower of fine hairs to fall across my face. I’m grateful for straightening it this morning. If I had left it its normal curly/wavy/undetermined self, these wisps wouldn’t be lying flat against my temple; they would be a frame of frizzy fuzz.

“Hang on, Lo. I’m serious about you trying this,” Parker says, grabbing forks from the silverware drawer.

Raking my short nails across my forehead, I work to prepare another excuse. My words fall flat as he brings a fork to his mouth and lightly blows on it while holding his other hand below the bite. The gesture is something I’ve never experienced, and my mind fights to decipher if I find it to be parental or romantic.

He closes the short gap between us and I slowly lower my hand, keeping it midair in an awkward stance. My brain is yelling at me to object the offer, to make an excuse for food allergies or about being late, but the excitement dancing in Parker’s wide blue eyes makes me swallow my words along with the bite of food.

It’s some sort of rice mixed with vegetables, coated in a light sauce that is slightly tangy and aromatic against my tongue. It’s delicious even as leftovers, assuring me that it was mouthwatering when King first made it.

“What do you think, Lauren? Is it better than sex?” King’s voice is bold with the edge of a joke hanging on the word sex.

I can feel my face heat with humiliation. Concealing my embarrassment is something I’ve never been able to master. It’s always been apparent by the deep flush that covers my cheeks and makes me feel like I’m in a sauna.

“Way better.” My throat feels too dry from the bite and his shocking question, but my words are clear. Parker’s eruption of laughter confirms they were also loud enough to be heard. My eyes move to King for a moment, my feet firmly planted in place to convey I’m not bothered by his innuendo.

“Really? So you’re silent while you do the dirty, huh?” King asks.

A new wave of embarrassment burns my cheeks, and I catch him raise his eyebrows for a second, before they fall back in place. His lips quirk ever so slightly—so slightly I don’t know that anyone would even catch the expression if they didn’t know to look for the truth.

“Not when it’s so good it deserves to be heard.”

Rather than narrowing into a glare like I’m expecting from his previous reaction, King’s eyes brighten with humor and he slowly nods a couple of times. Thankfully, Parker’s laughter distracts me, and I look over to catch him with his head thrown back and his mouth wide as he laughs like my words merit the reaction. But it’s only a second before my eyes turn back to King.

Lately I’ve begun sketching Mercedes here and there—something I have been grateful for after such a long dry spell—but my fingers and mind feel a familiar desire to draw King’s reaction with every detail my eyes are soaking in. I haven’t felt this buzz, this unattainable desire to draw and get every line I’m carefully storing to memory, for so long, I feel nearly drunk from it.

I need to go. I need to go now so I can draw while this yearning is still flowing through me. Even if King is my subject again, I need to feel the power only attainable when my charcoal is able to transform a blank sheet.

“I’ll see you guys later.” Without waiting for a reply, I head outside where the dampness from the air fills my lungs. It makes them feel heavier, stretched, like the air here weighs more because of how much moisture clings to everything surrounding me.

My thoughts are so consumed by everything I want to draw; I’m at the bus stop before it seems possible. I then watch everyone that passes me, noting details and sizes, shades, emotions—things I haven’t been able to see clearly for months. It’s nearly overwhelming, not just because there is so much to be seen, but because I am so relieved to once again see it.

The charcoal in my hand doesn’t hover with indecision as it has for so many weeks; it glides across the paper with ease. It’s as though I’m allowing myself to finally draw what I’ve been waiting to create for forever, though it’s impossible, because I have only known King a short time. Somehow, every single detail of him is perfectly stored to memory. So familiar, I don’t have to think to recall the line of his jaw or plains of his cheeks. I know each contour so well, it’s as though he’s been a constant throughout my entire life.

MY BACK is tight and stiff up to my neck, and my wrist aches when I finish shading a final strand of hair. Still, I feel reluctant to stop. It feels so good to be able to draw once again. My eyes burn and my lids feel suddenly heavy. It isn’t a conscious decision, but my eyes seem to blink far less when I work and always feel gritty and tired after a long session like they just endured.

I roll my shoulders and stretch my neck before standing and noticing it’s after 3:00 a.m. I don’t feel panicked or exhausted by the thought of having to wake up in a few hours. I’m far too invigorated for anything to get me down at this point.

“LO, COME check these out.” I pause and take a step back to the open office door and peer into where Kash is sitting beside King and Summer. “Come here. Remember the pictures and video I was telling you about? Summer’s showing me the edits. I want you to check these out.” Both King and Kash are turned to face me, but Summer’s eyes remain on the screen as I slowly approach them.

“Summer’s crazy good.” Kash rolls closer to the desk and points to an image on the screen. “Show her what you did to this one.”

Two images appear on the screen side by side. The image on the right has a background that has been muted while Kash’s skin is brighter, enhanced. My eyes slowly trace over the differences between the two images, noting far more differences than I’m sure she thinks I can. The one on the left showcases a scar that’s been erased on the image on the right, and though his muscles are larger in the enhanced image, the definition isn’t as beautiful, and the shadows and curve along his spine are missing.

“Crazy, right?” Kash’s question stops my comparison, and I move my attention to him and force a nod which feels too slow.

“Yeah,” I quietly agree, trying to sound more persuasive.

King’s eyes meet mine. They’re narrowed with question and doubt, like he knows I’m lying.

“That’s a really great picture. You have to let me know when you have an event. I’d like to come see one.”

“Come back to the shop. We’re going to be working on a new trick. It will make you question physics when you see this shit.”

“Yeah, you should totally come out to the shop,” Summer adds, turning to look at me.

I nod a few times, my neck feeling just as forced and awkward as before, when I meet her eyes. “That would be cool.”