DRAFT

Artist, Writer and Heart Rate

The Editor came to visit one day.

When the Writer joined a known publishing company, she expected that there will be an editor assigned to her. She knew that an editor will be pestering her for updates upon updates every time. But what the Writer didn't expect is that her editor would be the one the publishing company takes pride of when it comes to deadlines and results.

Strictness that can be compared to a gym instructor having a rather hard headed client. Professionalism that one can only see with lawyers in a middle of a heated court session. Lastly, beauty that can turn many heads and garner many stares from any sexes.

A woman, blonde that's usually tied up in a samurai bun with a pair of silver-rimmed glasses that slightly obscured her grey-hued eyes, the said editor was known to be stern and collected, but when it comes to the Writer?

In the living room of the Writer's apartment, the Writer was looking at an item that was placed on her mahogany coffee table. In between two steaming cups of coffee, a white box with a known mobile device brand embossed on it. Confusion etched on the Writer's face but the Editor?

"So? Do you like it?" the Editor asked with an excited tone. She pushed the box towards the Writer who was staring at the said box like it's a C4 bomb planted on the bomb site of De_Dust II. "That's the latest model. Newest technology this year. It's—"

"Possible to explode," the Writer added in a deadpanned manner.

"—explode yes... wait... No! This is not the model that would explode." The Editor gave the Writer the stink eye for dissing the gift she brought. She then opened the box and showed it to the Writer, grinning excitedly. "This is the latest one and quite possibly, one of the expensive ones."

The Writer looked up to her Editor, stoic expression still intact. "I can see it is a smartphone, but the question is, why did you buy me one?"

The Editor took the cup of coffee prepared for her and leaned back on the sofa. "You said you lost your phone a few days ago and since then, I couldn't get a hold of you..." she trailed off and drank the contents of her cup. "So I decided to buy you a new one."

"I do have a phone—"

"Which would die out after 3 minutes of call. Which lacks the capability to install any email applications..." The Editor looked at the small chocolate-bar shared phone on the edge of the coffee table. "A phone that's the same age as that indestructible phone way back early 2000s." She pointed out with a raised brow. "You need a new phone, Ice Princess, and here it is."

'Ice Princess' is what the Editor called the writer due to how the Writer can be a block of ice most of the times—meaning all the time.

'That was actually the point...' the Writer shrugged and took the box from the table and carefully opened it. She examined the contents and frowned at how it screams 'expensive' seeing the somewhat bitten-off fruit logo. "You do not jest. This is expensive."

"I'll take that as a 'thank you', and that you like it." The Editor placed her cup back on the table and went to sit on the armrest near the Writer. Leaning closer to the Writer, she assisted the Writer with the new phone and it's features,"So, to start off, your phone already has a sim in it—I made sure the number is already saved on my phone..." she began to explain the basic function of the phone.

The Writer listened in to the instructions carefully. She didn't mind how the Editor was close to her or how the Editor was holding her hand—she was used to it. In a way, the Editor's soft and gentle touches, how the Editor's stern yet caring voice that carried a hint of accent brought calmness to her usually disarrayed thoughts. It weighed everything down. Everything about the Editor was like an anchor to her. That is, unless it was deadline week.

Deadline week was pure and utter chaos. Like a dragon released in a knights infested castle, razing havoc and making it rain of fire and brine.

"And here we have the Health application. Gods forbid, your health is something I won't leave to your own decisions." The Editor nudged the Writer's shoulder. "So, one function of this is to measure health-related things. Since we have the same phone, I mostly use the 'Stress' and 'Heart' measurement." The editor tapped the 'Stress' feature and instructed the writer to place a finger on the sensor behind the phone. "It's not 100% accurate but fun to use," she said with a wide smile, assisting the Writer in holding the phone and testing the 'Stress' measurement feature.

The Writer was instructed to keep quiet and stay still while her stress level was being measured. She listened to how the editor rambled and didn't mind it one bit - she was used to it.

When the Stress level results flashed, it showed that the meter was still on the green level.

"Well, seems that you're not stressed. Heh, I'm betting it's because of my presence," said the Editor with a confident smirk.

The Writer rolled her eyes and pinched the editor's cheek softly. "Don't be so full of yourself. I'm always calm and stress-free."

The Editor laughed and bumped her shoulder to the Writer's. "I'm not. I'm just telling the truth. And please, you're a walking ball of stress if you're deadline's near" She set up the app again and tapped the 'Heart Rate' function. "Let's try this now." She guided the Writer's right index finger over the phone sensor and waited for the result.

After a few seconds, the result showed that the Writer has a 72 bpm, within the scope of the average resting range which is 61 - 76 bpm.

"That's amusing. Let's try again!" the Editor announced with a wicked smile. She pressed the 'Heart Rate' function again and placed the finger of the Writer back to the sensor, holding her hand firmly as well. "But this time, I want to see if your bpm would change when I do this..." she leveled herself on the Writer's ear and blowing hot breath against it before gently bit the soft flesh.

The Writer tensed up when she felt the warm breath and soft bite on her ear. A familiar feeling that her body's fairly accustomed to yet still managed to get a rouse from her. Surprising but not enough to jolt her heartbeat that high.

"Again..." the Editor whispered, adding a soft moan in it before initiating the app once again.

As the app continued to run, the Writer wanted to curse the goddess for the timing and what she was seeing.

Stepping in the living area, the Artist came back from her late jog. Dressed only in a black and red sports bra, mid-thigh length running shorts, and running shoes, the Artist made her way into the living room desite the sweat tracing down her body. As she entered the said area, she saw the Writer who was looking back at her, and beamed a carefree smile.

"Oh, heya! Do we have any cold water in the refrigerator today? Or Gatorade! Man, I would die for a blue Gatorade." The Artist grinned, wiping her sweat from her chin.

The Writer shook her head slowly, eyes still on the Artist's body and forgotten that they even have a refrigerator to answer the question.

"I see. But do we ha—You..." The artist then noticed that the writer wasn't alone and eyed the Editor who was sitting very close to the Writer. "I'll check the refrigerator myself. If you need me, I'll be inside my room, Googling several ways on how not to strangle a bad food critic after looking for something cold to drink." She left the two and went straight to the kitchen area to grab a cold drink and went straight to her room.

The Editor ignored the comment about her—basically ignoring the Artist—and stopped with her intimate motions with the Writer. She looked at the result of the 'Heart Rate' and smiled triumphantly. "Ha! 101 bpm! I made your heart race!"

The Writer could agree.

Her heart did race.

But she's sure it was not because of her Editor.