College Fund

//There you are, Butterfly//

I walked into work the next morning feeling slightly groggy, to say the least. Thankfully, before I had fallen asleep last night, Bria offered to drive me to work the next morning so I could save some time, and therefore sleep longer. It was a good thing she did, because I didn't wake up until 10:30 and even with her driving me I barely made it on time for work at 11:00.

Of course, Eric was already at Milky Way to greet me. He was counting the change in the cash register when I walked in. He looked up when the door chimed, and broke into a smile when his eyes landed on me.

"Morning, Miss Social Butterfly," he greeted.

I walked around behind the counter and made my way towards the staff room, not bothering to look back at him when I responded. "Why are you still calling me that?"

"It suits you," he shot back. I ignored the temptation to look back and see his facial expression. My backpack made its way onto the table, and I allowed myself to turn around and stare into Eric's brown eyes.

"That's a matter of opinion," I retorted, and pushed past him to get back behind the counter.

He snorted. "Here, need me to tie your apron for you?"

I gave one last futile attempt to tie the strings behind my back before giving up and sighing, which Eric took as his cue to step up and do his knot-tying magic. "Thanks," I breathed.

"My pleasure," Eric smirked, again.

"Do you know any other facial expressions? Besides, um, smirking?"

He looked at me, surprised. "I don't know, what does it look like?"

I proceeded to make my best attempt at copying Eric's most popular face. One side of my face went up, almost in a smile, and the other half staying straight. One eye widened slightly.

"Is that actually what I look like?" Eric gasped, horrified. "You look hideous!"

My eyes must have shown the hurt I felt, because Eric seemed to recognize something was wrong. No one wants to be told they're hideous by the guy they are starting to have a crush on.

"No, no, not that you're hideous!" Eric corrected quickly. "I just meant the face, not your face. The face you were making. Your face is actually nice, I mean really pretty. You - You're beautiful."

It was funny to see Eric so flustered. Usually he was so calm and collected, always knowing the right thing to say. I probably would have laughed if I weren't so focused on struggling to keep the blush on my cheeks at bay. "Thanks, Eric," I replied bashfully.

For once, he didn't seem to know what to say. I didn't either, but I was used to feeling like that. Instead of saying something, I did something.

I began to wipe down the counter.

Eric followed my lead and began to take the lids off the ice cream containers. It was nice how we always seemed to work the same shift. We had developed a work plan that worked for each of us: during slow times one of us could have a break, and during busy times I would scoop and he would run the cash register. We rarely argued, and had been on the road to becoming friends. Now it seemed the road was leading to something more than friends.

The first customer walked through the door: a middle-aged man dressed in construction clothes. He had purple bags under his eyes and looked like he hadn't slept in ages.

"Good morning," I greeted pleasantly.

"Hi," he responded. "It was a long nightshift, you know? I really need a pick-me-up, and I think ice cream will do just the trick."