Blank Pages

Four

AN: Hi, everyone!! First off, I just want to say a massive thank you for all your lovely comments and feedback. Like I said in the beginning, this is my first ever full fic, so I was really very nervous about going through with it, but your encouragement has helped tremendously. Second, as a reader myself, I know how it feels to be bitin, so I understand the requests for an update, but while I would love to be able to update every day, I can't guarantee that I will. I hope you understand. I'll try to update as often as I can, but just to set expectations, the only thing I can promise is to update at least every Sunday 😊 Last, I'm trying to get better at replying to comments here, but I still really prefer to engage on Twitter, so please feel free to tweet me your thoughts. My Twitter handle is @silent_shipper. Again, thank you so much for your encouragement and support. Now onto chapter four...

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The friendly cup of coffee becomes two friendly cups—then dinner—and now they're sitting across each other in a booth at her favorite bar, and he's watching her put her hair up while he's sipping an ice cold beer. When Mark texts at quarter to eight to ask if they're still on for drinks, he quickly replies, "She said yes to coffee," to which Mark answers back with, "HAHAHA THAT'S MY BOY. Alright, lover. Enjoy."

The afternoon flew by, and the evening is progressing at an agreeable pace. Richard can't remember the last time he enjoyed someone's company this much, or the last person he found as interesting as he finds her. She is so easy to talk to—this laidback Pretty but Talentless Painter, whose name he now knows is Nicomaine, or Maine for short. She asks a ton of questions with the curiosity of a child—and always seems genuinely interested in the answers—but is never too pushy or nosy, which puts Richard at ease right away. Their conversation flows naturally from their favorite 90's bands and childhood toys to what they really think about the country's current political situation (she refuses to divulge who she voted for, and he didn't even register, "Kaya shut up na lang ako"—earning a hearty sing-song laugh from her, which pleases him exceedingly.)

He tries not to stare as she gathers her thick, brown hair into a messy ponytail and tucks a few stray strands behind her ears, exposing a smooth, honey-skinned neck and collarbone. It's not fair, he thinks. Women have so many moves they can use to draw us in, and we poor men are powerless against them. He shifts his gaze to her full, red lips, the lipstick now a bit smeared after eating an enormous burger and a generous serving of onion rings—another point in her favor, she eats like a "real" person. She isn't one of those "one celery stick and a cigarette" types of people—and he briefly wonders if she prefers flavored lip balms, and if so, what flavor she favors.

"Richard?" She gives him a quizzical look, and he realizes with a guilty start that she just asked him a question he didn't hear.

He chuckles sheepishly. "Sorry, those burgers we ate just caught up to me. Ano po ulit yun?"

"I said, what do you think about this band?" She jerks her head towards the live acoustic band performing on a small stage in the center of the room.

He shakes his head and eyes her suspiciously. "Nuh-uh, I'm not falling for that again. I know how this works now. Kapag sinabi ko yung totoo biglang sasabihin mo na mga kaibigan mo pala sila. No, thanks. Pass."

She lets out a merry laugh, and for one wild moment he considers sliding next to her and pressing his ear up to her lips to hear it up close and feel the rhythm on his skin. Okay, no more beer for you, Faulkerson. Last mo na to for the night.

"Hindi ko sila kilala, noh! And sige, aaminin ko na I only asked for your opinion on my painting because I was curious—and maybe a little because I wanted to mess with you—but now I'm asking because I honestly want to know what you think."