Raphael /BoyxBoy/

||Three||

I went back to the tea shop a few days later, my phone heavier in my pocket ever since I put off replying to Nate's email.

I still needed to, and my fingers subconsciously found the sides of my phone as I thought about it.

A waiter stopped by my table and I wrenched my hand away as if I'd burnt a layer of my skin off.

He raised an eyebrow. "What can I get you?"

I cleared my throat. "Cinnamon."

He left, but only after shooting me a curious glance.

I slumped against my seat as soon as he disappeared, forcing my fingers to play with corners of a napkin instead.

It wasn't like I didn't want to talk to Nate. I always wanted to talk to him. It was just the idea that I'd slept with someone else then instantly thought of him afterwards that had me dreading the exchange.

What if he could just sense it? I couldn't remember if he was that good at perception.

That was a worrying thought.

I'd always been terrified of forgetting things about him. How he looked, what he smelt like, what he tasted like, the feeling of his shirt underneath my skin, his skin underneath mine, the shape of his lips.

I needed to see him again. Remember what I could.

My tea arrived with a different waiter, and I quickly resolved that I'd email him back as soon as I got the chance.

Then I paid and left the shop, taking a few steps away before quickly doubling back.

He was where I found him last time, sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the trash can.

I hesitated before I approached him. "Hey."

He glanced up, eyes flickering when he recognized me. "Oh, it's you again."

I stood there awkwardly as his eyes skimmed me over. "Yeah."

He lifted something up between his fingers. "Care for a smoke?"

I walked over to him and he shifted around to make room for me.

"What is that?"

He smiled. "Who's asking?"

"A concerned citizen?"

His fingers played with the stick in his hand. "It's weed."

"No it's not."

He narrowed his eyes. "Oh?"

I stretched out my hand and he dropped the stick in my hand. "It's just a cigarette."

"Not everyone knows that. Just hand out a few sticks, label it, and people will buy it."

"But they're completely different things."

"They don't know that."

I handed him the cigarette back. "Don't they come after you?"

He tsked as if I was one of his stupid customers, unexperienced and dumb. "Never do business in the same place twice."

"Good strategy."

He grinned, sticking the cigarette in a small plastic bag. "You'd be surprised."

"So how much do you make?"

"Not enough." He sighed, but his lips twitched humorously. "Do you want some?"

"No, thanks."

He shrugged, packing his things away. Then he stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles and folded his hands behind his head. "So what do you do?"