A/N The story cover was drawn by me a few days before I wrote this I hope you like it . . . and this chapter.

You were absolutely stressed.

The art museum would be opening in a few weeks and you still haven't finished your project.

The thing is, you're an artist. A very well-known artist. Your client happened to be an old friend and the owner of the building. And he wanted your painting to be in the very center of the museum for everyone to admire. He expressed such details in the painting that you were sure it will take you half the year to finish it. You wanted to decline, but the way he showed his hopes for you made you say otherwise.

So here you are now, slumped on your desk at six in the morning after taking an all-nighter.

This was definitely more than you bargained for.

You have only done the outline of the painting and you've barely put any color.

There was so much detail that the outline took you two weeks to finish. Now you had to add some coloring and arrange the shadowing.

You sighed, knowing you won't be able to stay up for another hour. So you turned off your stereo, which has been blaring Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance and Panic! At The Disco songs ever since you started, and grabbed your dark blue coat and your bag, which contained your phone, wallet, and a book, before heading out to the nearest café.

The café was pretty full, but luckily, you managed to find a table near the window after ordering a cup of hot chocolate.

You were never one for coffee. There were rare occasions when you would drink coffee because you ran out of hot chocolate and you were too lazy to go out and buy some more. You have nothing against coffee, you just preferred to drink hot chocolate.

You were almost done with the eleventh chapter of your book when someone came up, " Is it okay if I sit here? "

You looked up to see a man wearing a fedora and those big-framed glasses holding a cup of coffee.

The man looked familiar.

You narrowed your eyes. The cogs of your brain started working, then . . . ding!

" Patrick Stump from Fall Out Boy? "

Oops.

That wasn't supposed to be said aloud.

" Why hello there, my dear fan. " Patrick smiled, " Do you mind if I sit here? "

" I don't mind. " you replied.

" Sorry for bothering you. The café's pretty full and you seemed nice. " he said with an  apologetic smile.

" Its quite alright. "

He gave you a dorky smile the moment after you said that. ' Damn him and his adorableness '  you thought, feeling butterflies in your stomach. Patrick took a sip before his brows furrowed a bit and tilted his head then brought up a finger to tap his neck, " You have a little something there. "

You only knitted your eyebrows together before you realized what he meant. You came from painting without cleaning yourself up, which resulted to you going out with paint smeared on your neck.

Well, that explained the weird looks people have given you.

" Aw man . . . I forgot to wash up. " you said, grabbing some tissue and tried  wiping the paint off.

" Its here. " Patrick directed, placing his finger just underneath his jaw.

" Here? "

" Nope. " Patrick leaned over and wiped it off himself, " Here. "

Your breath hitched in your throat when you realized how close your faces are. The color of your cheeks went brick red, especially since you don't experience these kinds of things a lot.

Patrick smirked, as if he knew how you would react, before slumping back in his seat " How did paint get there anyway? "

And that's how you ended up telling him your situation. The museum. Your client. The painting. Everything that has happened in the past two weeks. 

Patrick listened intently as if his life depended on it. His gaze never left yours even while taking a sip of his coffee. He was kinda worried on how stressed you seemed to be, so he hatched an idea.

" . . . and I really need something to help me loosen up. " you finished, running your hand through your hair.

" And I have just the idea. " Patrick grinned, finishing the last sip of his coffee.

" What are you - "

Patrick grabbed your wrist before running out of the café. You were holding your cup when Patrick pulled you out of your seat, so your drink nearly spilled on you. Patrick apologised and kept running, with you trudging behind him. Patrick was holding his phone to his ear on one hand while the other held your hand when he ran.

You looked at your intertwined fingers and again, your face went red from the contact.

A/N Thanks (Pete) so much for reading!