Noah.

Life is terrifying. It's short, exceptionally good at tearing down everything I work towards and gives me only a sliver of the world I wished I lived in. I've always been out of place and it's not as if I despise it, yet I want others to understand that this is simply who I am. I blend into the crowds, I still live with my parents and I'm no more popular than the guy who sits beside me in my psychology class.

Every time this class ends part of me wishes that as soon as I walk back into the student soaked air of the very large hallway that something different might hit me in the side of the head, something that can tell me where the hell I'm supposed to go once I fly the stupid nest that is the dream I wished my life had turned out to be. I'm the loner that everyone thinks I am even if I had never planned on being it, but how am I supposed to change that? How do I prove to my family that I'm not a lost cause? When I decided to take an extra year to complete my degree I felt as if I had disappointed the whole god-damned world, but I just need a little more time to figure things out.

Today, at least, I only had one class and now I can go home to my bedroom where I will spend the rest of my time alone drawing and working on my somewhat of a side hustle. Diana, my sister, works at a small publishing house in the city and luckily she seems to be the only one looking out for me. When she sees an opportunity for me it feels as if she's placed a me-sized billboard right in front of my eyes. It's nice to make a little extra money from attempting to design book covers, but I know I can't rely on her forever.

I'm the first to get home, like almost every day. I barely unlace my shoes as I kick them off into the closet with every other pair of shoes that I own while my family's neatly stored side of the space stays organized.

My bedroom, on the second floor, has just enough space for my bed, my dresser and my desk. It's practically been the same since I was a child except for the few decorative upgrades I've done over the years. My parents had put up plenty of cute elephant portraits when I was a baby, but now I've replaced almost all of them with posters.

I finally power on my laptop and sit down on my plastic egg-shaped desk chair. On the other hand, I've had this stupid computer for so many years that I'm finally starting to see it slow down like an elderly dog with its fan blowing the hot air out from the probably overheating battery.

It's kind of a habit for me to check my email first before I do anything else. I think I kind of just expect there to be something in my inbox even if the more likely discovery is that there's absolutely nothing, but today, for once, it's a different kind of day. My inbox shows one unread email from Diana with the subject line: I've got a new project for you.

"I've got the perfect book for you!" she writes me. "It's a teen romance novel."

This is a pretty common kind of email I get from her.

"Anyways, it's about this really talented boy and he's got this crush on this one girl in his grade. Turns out she's got a crush on him too. Well, they graduate and kind of go their separate ways but end up finding each other again about a year later. Of course, by now the boy is a full-blown superstar and then all this stuff happens.

So what do you think?"

What do I think? For someone who works in the publishing industry, she should probably word her messages more formally, but besides this, I know exactly what this story is. It's a fanfiction disguised by changing the names of the characters and I already know who it's about.

"It's a Rover Baxton fanfiction isn't it?" I write back.

Minutes later I get a reply, "I'm so glad you figured that out, Noah."

"Were you not allowed to tell me like all the other ones?" I ask.

"Obviously," she writes, "imagine the lawsuit if the guy knew all these stories are about him and the author's fantasies."

"So what's the title?"

"Seeing You Again," she replies.

I type out my next message, asking, "Are you going to send me the contract then?"

I don't hear back for a while, but eventually, she sends me, "Well, we really only need a mockup for now."

It's always just a mockup, and I'm grateful for the chance to get my art out there, yet when will they see me as a legitimate artist? I'm not some underage child who can't take criticism and I'm certainly not going to stop until they treat me like a respectable, independent, partner to their business. Deep down, however, I know I can't refuse and I honestly don't want to either.

"Okay, then, I'll get to it," I tell her.

"Yay, I'm so excited! Oh, and tell your Rover poster that I say thank you," she replies.

Yes... my poster of Rover Baxton on the back of my bedroom door who I imagine saying goodbye to me every time I leave to go to school. To say I simply enjoy his music would be an understatement, it's more of an obsession that I know doesn't really help my situation but I can't help the fact that I think he's one of the most incredible musicians to ever walk the earth. He's the kind of guy I wish I could, in the least bit, have some sort of verbal relationship with, yet until then I'll just have to keep dreaming about him. It kind of feels like the only thing I do these days. I've even gone far enough to try and coax myself into learning how to have a lucid dream. That might feel like a step too far, but who else am I supposed to imagine if I want to experience some sort of happiness?

I plug my tablet into my computer so that I can start drawing. The wires are finicky but I always end up getting them in eventually.

From my previous experience, most authors imagine a close up look of their heartthrob on their covers. They, of course, all look like a Rover Baxton clone with his short black curly hair, dark peach skin and that ever so small gap in between his front teeth.

Before I even notice it, the sun has turned into a spotlight directed at my face through my window. Its golden glow blinds me as it takes its good old time going down past the horizon of the forest a good distance away. My hands do little to block it out, but eventually, I hear Diana walk through the front door.

"I'm home!" she shouts from the main floor.

"I know!" I shout back, getting up from my desk and making my way downstairs.

Seeing as she's the older one out of the both of us I wonder how she gets through life being so loud. I might be only twenty-two, but for someone who's supposed to be twenty-four, I thought she would have grown out of her endless partying phase by now. She still gets invited to university shindigs, but it shouldn't be surprising since she still knows people who go to OttawaU and for the fact that her office is also in the area.

"Mom and Dad are eating out tonight," she says.

Our parents seem to be in their second honeymoon phase at the moment.

"So?" I question her.

"What did you make?" she asks.

She's always so optimistic, but like usual I give her my answer, "Nothing."

"You've been here almost all day," she whines.

"I know that," I tell her, "but I've also been working."

"Whatever," she rolls her eyes as she walks to the kitchen. "Let's order Chinese or something."

"Sure," I agree nonchalantly as I slouch all the way into the living room.

Diana pulls out her phone to order us dinner as I fall into place on the couch grabbing the remote to turn on the TV and watch the news. Politics obviously take up a good portion of the time, with the commentary on which country is mad at another country who says they're not in the wrong but the other country is also saying the same thing, and then it's followed by a thirty-second segment on the weather before commercials start playing. Sure enough, an ad for Rover's tour comes on only further pushing the realization that I won't be able to go to his concert. Toronto, Montreal, but he skips Ottawa all together and I don't have the time to make the trip. Summer school starts in a couple of weeks and if I want to graduate by next Spring I have to put everything I got into getting my degree.

"Isn't he dreamy?" Diana overdramatically makes fun of my crush.

She's really the only person I ever talk back to, "Yes, he is, thank you for noticing."

"Yeah, yeah," she mocks as she sits down beside me.

We're quiet for a minute before I notice her look at me with a raised eyebrow.

"What?" I sigh.

She straightens her posture as she says, "We should put you on Tinder."

"Nope!" I immediately intercept. "I am not joining Tinder."

"Noah," she pleads as she places her hands on my shoulder, "this would be good for you. You can meet some really hot guys."

"No, no, no, no, no," I repeat, "there's no way I'm just going to go hook up with some random stranger."

She still looks at me with her sparkling eyes, "You can talk to them first."

I decide that it's just better if I stand up and go back to my room, but she's still insistent.

"I heard Nick Colton is on the app," she tells me.

"Good night Diana," I reply as I continue walking.

"What about supper?" she goes on.

I make sure to get the last word, "I said, good night."