𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞, ph.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢. my seven days.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢. —— my seven days.

— i —

Apparently having your own exhibition was a pretty big deal at the Faculty of Photography. Pick was quite surprised to see how many people came to look at Emma's photos and Porsche was acting like he was already Emma's proud boyfriend or, even worse, as if he took those pictures himself and people praising Emma were praising Porsche, too. It was annoying, to say the least, and Pick was in a shitty mood because everything hurt from Friday's fight. He would probably just stay in bed if it wasn't for his best friend's nagging.

Pick was trailing lazily behind Porsche, taking some pleasure out of scaring the freshmen who hurriedly ran away whenever he looked down at them—well, at least until Porsche yelled that he should be a good senior.

"P'Porsche, P'Pick! You came," Emma suddenly appeared at their side with a camera hanging on a stripe around her neck. As far as Pick could tell, she looked nervous.

"Where's your boyfriend?" Pick rested his elbow on Porsche's arm and looked around the place. There were too many people to spot someone as small as Rome.

Emma sighed and pointed towards the lemonade stand. "He's with Liz but I don't recommend his company today, he's a little bit snappy," she said with a frown.

Pick looked towards the place she was pointing and barely suppressed a laugh. Rome was standing next to the girl Pick had seen in the cinema the other day; she was a little bit taller than him, her white dress contrasted with long black hair and, well, she was really pretty. Pick kind of pitied Rome by now even if, as the boy had said, the girl was nice.

"Who's Liz?" Porsche asked confused.

"His girlfriend," Pick mocked, thinking about how he just called Rome Emma's boyfriend. "Nong'Emma, your love life is getting a little crowded, isn't it?"

"Oh, come on, P'Pick. My love life?" she smirked in a way that made Pick think she knows something he doesn't. God, he hated when women looked at him like that, his mother was an expert in those kinds of looks. "P'Porsche, would you like to see my photos? Some of them have already been bought, but I can show you the rest!"

"You're allowed to sell them here?" Porsche asked interested.

The girl nodded with a smile. "The money goes for charity. The photography club decides where we want to donate after the exhibition."

"Well, you're free to donate to our shelter. God knows we need it," Porsche sighed, making Pick snort.

"Oh, do you have some trouble there?" Emma was asking, already leading Porsche towards the photographs.

Pick lingered behind and then slowly made his way over to the lemonade stand.

"Anyways, I was too young to take care of him myself so my dad decided to give him to some of his friends," Rome said and shrugged. He paid for two cups of cold lemonade and took them in his hands, turning around. Rome, being the clumsy dumbass he was, didn't notice Pick when he was moving and he bumped into him, spilling the lemonade over the both of them. "Oh, I'm so—P'Pick? What the hell are you doing, standing so close?!" the boy quickly changed his tone when he looked up.

"No, no, shorty, you were doing so good. Apologize to me properly," Pick said with amusement, looking down at Rome's white shirt that now had a yellow stain on it. Pick was wearing black so it wasn't as visible.

"Piss off, it's cold! I've wasted my lemonade because of you," he whined, trying to drag the shirt away from his body. "Oh, Liz, I'm so sorry."

Why was he apologizing to the girl? It's not like Rome spilled anything on her. Pick rolled his eyes at that.