Who's your crush?

After spending the whole afternoon shifting from my bed to the veranda and back to my bed, I open my phone. Skimming through my photos I come across a bunch I took this morning.

Looking through them, I can't help but have my eyes waver towards one particular person, involuntarily.

He smiles like an idiot. In all the pictures we've had he is always up to something, yet one thing's always consistent. He never fails to flaunt his ever-fluctuating handsomeness. Perhaps he doesn't even have to try, because he is an inherently appealing guy.

But,. . . I sit up straight, lingering over a particular picture. Before I can think more, My phone starts ringing.

"Hi."

"Hey," he cheerily says.

"Looks like someone's in a very good mood?" I say, bringing my knees close to my chest.

"I guess." He replies. "But I am nervous too."

"Nervous?" I ask. "Now, I really wanna know what you are happy about, that's also making you nervous."

I hear him chuckle. "So?" I ask.

"What?"

"You have a crush?"

He goes silent for a second, and all I hear is his rhythmic breathing. Someone was talking too, in the background.

"Where are you?"

He replies, "At the pitch." This time, without a pause. "Why? You need something?"

I roll my eyes, exasperatedly. "What, are you? A wish-granting machine? God?"

"Maybe we can go with the first one?" He says. "We both know I am neither, but for my dumbass Radfile, I can always try and be a wish-granting machine?"

I don't know why but Lucas' acting is too nice for his good. He's not someone to conduct this pleasingly with me, especially.

"Shut the fuck up, what dumbass—" As expected he just can't talk normally. We can never just have conservations normally, without disputes. "You become the exact thing you call someone else."

He chuckles again.

"Can you come to pi & pe?"

"Why?"

"Can you?" I repeat.

"I'll be there in 10 minutes."

"Okay, bye."

"Bye."

***

The entire road had moderately small, yet perceptible whiffs of winter on them, as small twinkles of snow slowly attempted to cover the entire place. This time of the year and its manners has always been such a riddle to me.

One time it's all sweet, exhibiting its lustrous white characters and delicately cozy breezes, and the next second it's all stormily frigid, too unendurable for people.

I've always liked pi and pee, its real name being piquant and peppery. The internal and external structure is fantastic, not like those five four-starred hotels with lavish stones and millions of dollars worth of sumptious cement holding the premier quality bricks and windows in place.

Piquant and Peppery have a cool vibe about them, that will just draw you towards it. Especially if you are one of the aesthetic fans. The exterior of the shop is done in complete white, with the logo of pi and pee on the tiffany coloured facade.

"Hey, Lisa," Julia's smiling face welcoming me is the first thing I encounter, stepping into piquant and peppery.

"Hey Jules," I smile. "How're things?"

Showing a thumbs up, she says, "As coolly good as my smiling hot coffees."

I giggle at her response.

"Two sodas, please," I say, showing her two fingers.

"Two? Is someone accompanning you tonight?' She asks.

I look at her and for a second I pause. I don't even know why but, "Lucas," I say.

"Alright, I'll get them for you."

And before I could check the time on my phone again, someone showed up.

"Hey," Opening his waistcoat he folds it and drapes it over the chair.

"How were your matches?"

He glances, before saying "What do you think?"

"Not so good?" And even though I don't want a smile, one just breaks on my face.

"Huh." Giving an apathetic look, he pridefully boasts, "I won three."

"How many did you play?"

He turns at me and leans in. "Three."

I stare back at him, 'cause at a time like this I really can't do anything to win it, can I? But I can't lose either.

To avoid that, I look out the window and pretend as if it doesn't matter. "So? You won, but this time doesn't mean you'll win the next time too.

Don't be this confident" I am wrong, I said all these to him, knowing very well, he has never lost a game in decades and neither will he in the future. He is THAT good.

And even if I pretend as much as I want, I know I can't hide it from him. And I know he is seeing the smile that's so small, for people to notice me smiling, which's blooming on my face slowly. I know he knows.

"Okay now," I stare at him, with a knowing smile.

"What?" He asks, wearily. "What's with that creepy look?"

"Creepy my foot." I smile, "It's cute." Flaunting my cuteness, by acting to fake spread the beautiness towards him, with my hands.

He replies, "I'd just rather vomit and die."

Pouting at his response, I get back to what I previously wanted to ask him. "Who's your crush?"

He does nothing but just stare. "What? Say it." I say.