The silence in the car was suffocating. I wasn't one for casual conversation, but even I knew this was painfully awkward. It rivaled the time Charlie guilt-tripped me into picking up Jamie, drunk out of his mind and making out with Rose from the Catholic school, in the back seat.

Josh sat stiffly beside me, his profile illuminated by the city lights flashing through the window. He didn't look at me once, his gaze fixed on the passing streets. The scent of my perfume lingered between us, faint but sharp enough to make my pulse quicken.

I clenched the steering wheel.

Say something, Mark. Anything.

The silence clawed at me, and his presence only made it worse.

"You can stop the car here," his voice cut through the quiet, startling me.

I glanced around. There were no houses, just an empty street lined with shadows. "You live here?" I asked skeptically.

"No, I'll walk the rest of the way." He reached for the seatbelt, but I placed my hand over his, pushing the lock back in place. His skin was warm under my touch, and I forced myself not to focus on it.

"I don't mind dropping you off," I said quickly, my voice firmer than intended. Anything to keep him in the car longer.

"I'm fine. I feel a little tipsy anyway," he muttered, his tone dismissive. "I'll grab something from Gourmet Grill to sober up."

That perked me up immediately. "I was planning on stopping there too," I lied smoothly. Lies were second nature to me, flowing as easily as breathing. "Since we're headed the same way, just stay. I'll drive you."

Josh hesitated, his gaze dropping to my hand still resting over his. I pulled it back quickly, trying to hide the sudden rush of heat that surged through me.

"Fine," he said, settling back into his seat.

He went back to staring out the window, but I didn't care. He was still here. That was enough for now.

The parking lot of Gourmet Grill was dimly lit and almost empty. I unbuckled my seatbelt, but Josh stopped me with a hand gesture.

"You wait here. I'll order," he said abruptly before bolting out of the car.

I frowned, watching him disappear into the restaurant. He didn't even ask what I wanted. Did he expect me to eat whatever he chose?

Should I go after him?

I can't stop thinking he's acting weird,  I think back to the bathroom incident. Who uses someone's bathroom and rifles through their things? It wasn't normal right? And yet, it was Josh—just as cryptic and unpredictable as he was back in high school. He didn't make sense then, and he certainly didn't now.

I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. Would I ever understand him?

Josh returned a few minutes later, two bags of food in hand. He climbed into the passenger seat, dropping one bag into my lap without a word.

I glanced at him. "Uh...what did you get?"

"Double bacon cheeseburger, fries with extra seasoning, and a vanilla shake with chocolate drizzle," he replied casually.

My heart skipped. That was my go-to order. How did he know?

Josh seemed to sense my stare and shifted uncomfortably. "Didn't know what you'd like. I told the waitress to give me something random," he said quickly. "Should I return it?"

"No," I said too quickly, my voice betraying me. I tore my eyes away from him and opened the bag. "Thanks."

The waitress just happened to randomly give out my custom order?

He nodded, his gaze drifting out the window again.

As I ate, I noticed his attention fix on a sign outside the restaurant. It was an advertisement for a drive-in theater at Silver Grove Park, just a short drive from here. The sign was bright and bold, displaying a retro design with a marquee reading: "Classic Movie Night—Casablanca at 11 PM."

My curiosity piqued. "Do you want to go there?" I asked, nodding toward the sign.

Josh turned to me, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he just stared, and I couldn't look away. His gaze—it burned and froze me at the same time.

"I mean, we don't have to," I added quickly, my confidence faltering. "I just thought—"

"Give me a minute," he interrupted, pulling out his phone.

I blinked, stunned he hadn't outright refused.

He stepped out of the car, pacing the parking lot as he made a call. I watched him through the windshield, unable to tear my eyes away. Even in the dim light, he looked effortlessly good, his movements fluid and precise.

He was arguing with whoever was on the other end of the line, his voice sharp and tense. The sight of him, so animated and raw, made my chest ache with something I couldn't name.

When he finally ended the call, he sighed heavily and climbed back into the car. He dropped the bag of food onto his lap, his hands fumbling with the seatbelt.

"I've got it," I said, reaching over to help. He flinched slightly, pulling his hands back.

I ignored the sting in my chest and focused on locking the belt into place. "There."

"We can go now, to the theater" he said, his voice quieter than before.

I nodded and started the car, heading toward Silver Grove Park. The soft hum of the engine filled the silence, punctuated only by the occasional slurp from Josh's drink.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He was focused on the straw, sipping slowly, his lips wrapping around the plastic. My stomach twisted in ways I didn't want to think about.

Focus, Mark. Baby steps.

By the time we reached the drive-in, I had played that entire scenario of his lips wrapping around the plastic straw a thousand times. I was slowly losing my mind and my patience.

Should I take him right here, right now?

When the glowing neon of the drive-in theater appeared ahead—Classic Movie Night! Featured Film: Forbidden Rendezvous—I stole a glance at Josh. His expression was neutral, but I'd caught the way he'd stared at the sign earlier, something almost longing flickering in his eyes.

I pulled into the short line of cars waiting for tickets. "Do you want to get the tickets, or should I?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"You can." His answer was curt, his eyes already back on the window.

"Right," I muttered under my breath, stepping out of the car. The cool night air hit my face as I walked to the booth. I paid for the tickets and returned to the car, holding them up like some small victory.

"All set," I said, sliding into the driver's seat. "You want anything to snack on?"

Josh hesitated, the faintest flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "I'm fine," he said finally, his voice low.

"You sure? I'm getting something anyway. Might as well share."

A shrug. "Whatever."

Not exactly a resounding yes, but I took it as permission. At the concession stand, I ordered a jumbo caramel popcorn. The sugary smell filled the air, and I found myself wondering if Josh even liked caramel. Did he think this was stupid? A waste of time?

When I got back to the car, I handed him the ticket and settled in. "Popcorn?" I offered, nudging the container sitting in the cupholder between us.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against mine for a brief moment. The contact was fleeting but enough to send a jolt through me.

"Sorry," he mumbled, pulling his hand back like I'd burned him.

"It's okay," I said quickly, my voice softer than I intended. I wished he hadn't moved it so fast.

To distract myself, I unwrapped the burger he'd ordered for me and took a bite. It was good—better than I'd expected—but I wasn't really hungry. I chewed mechanically, glancing at Josh again.

"So do you like going to theaters?" I asked hoping he would look at me.

"No."

"Have you seen this movie before?"

"No."

"Do you like movies of this genre?"

"No."

"Want a bite?" I asked, more to keep him engaged than anything.

Since when do I talk this much?

For the first time since we'd gotten in the car, he turned fully to look at me. His dark eyes locked on mine, and my stomach twisted.

"Mark," he said evenly, "let's stay quiet so we can enjoy the movie."

The finality in his tone left no room for argument. I nodded, swallowing hard as I turned back to the screen.

The movie started, but I couldn't bring myself to care. The plot blurred into an indistinct mess of dialogue and action, drowned out by the sound of my own thoughts. Beside me, Josh reclined his seat slightly, settling in as he focused on the screen.

I couldn't stop watching him. For someone who'd said he didn't like drive-ins or movies of this genre, he was utterly absorbed. His jaw clenched and relaxed subtly with each scene, his eyes darting back and forth as if he were trying to absorb every detail.

What was it about the sign earlier? Why did he want to come here if he didn't even like this? Was this something he wanted to do with his boyfriend?

The thought dug into me, sharp and uncomfortable. I shifted in my seat, glancing at the jumbo popcorn between us.

"Popcorn?" I tried again, nudging it his way.

He reached out, this time more cautiously, and his hand accidentally brushed mine again. It lingered for a fraction of a second longer than before, but not long enough. He pulled back quickly.

"Sorry," he said again, his voice so soft I almost missed it.

"It's fine," I said, even though it wasn't. Even though I wished he'd left his hand there longer.

I leaned back, pretending to focus on the movie, but my eyes kept darting to him. Josh shifted, reclining his chair further until he was almost lying down. He didn't even glance my way—just stayed glued to the screen, his profile bathed in the faint glow of the movie.

I followed his lead, reclining my seat and turning slightly so I faced him. I couldn't help it. The way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheekbones, the slight parting of his lips as he watched the movie, the steady rise and fall of his chest—it was mesmerizing.

For all the excitement on the screen, Josh was far more interesting. I wished I had my sketch pad with me, wished I could capture every detail. The faint crease between his brows when something intense happened, the almost imperceptible twitch of his lips when he was amused.

I had no idea what the movie was about. I didn't care. All I wanted to do was watch him.

Josh shifted slightly, adjusting the chair, and my gaze followed the movement like a moth drawn to a flame.

Why can't he look at me like that? I thought bitterly. Why can't he focus on me with the same intensity he gives that screen?

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. I didn't know what this was—this obsession, this overwhelming need to catalog every detail of him. But I knew one thing.

I'd rather spend every second of my life watching Josh than waste another moment pretending the movie mattered.

"Are you going to keep staring?" Josh asked, his tone flat but edged with something I couldn't quite read.

I flinched. My eyes darted away for half a second before snapping back to him, only to find him already looking at me.

We locked eyes, and it was like a switch flipped. There we were, caught in this strange moment, neither of us willing to look away. I wanted to say something—anything—but my brain came up blank.

"You're not really the butler, are you?" Josh asked, his gaze sharp and unrelenting.

I hesitated, knowing full well he was onto me. He didn't wait for me to answer.

"I'm guessing you're the owner of the house, and Ronald's just a friend?"

"I wouldn't call Ronald a friend," I said, my voice coming out quieter than I intended.

Josh laughed, and the sound hit me like wind chimes on a quiet day. It scratched an itch I didn't know I had, soothing and yet disarming all at once.

"What do you do then?" he asked, still watching me.

"I'm an artist. I guess that's my fancy way of saying I'm unemployed."

He smiled, and it felt like the room had shifted, his expression somehow making everything else in the world feel smaller.

Josh turned to face me fully, his head now resting on his folded hands like a makeshift pillow. The movie flickered on, forgotten. It felt like a game—this unspoken challenge to see who'd look away first.

"You did always like to draw," he said casually, but the words hit me like a jolt of electricity. My eyes widened.

"You...remember me?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. I could feel a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

Josh leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. "You're the guy from the club, right?"

The smile vanished from my face as quickly as it had come.

Josh's laugh erupted suddenly, full and loud. My stomach twisted at the sound, both flustered and completely enthralled by it.

"I'm just joking," he said, still grinning. "I know who you are, Mark Sullivan."

Hearing my name fall from his lips was euphoric, like a song I wanted to replay endlessly. My heart skipped, and I struggled to find the right words to fill the space between us.

"What about you?" I managed, my voice low. "What do you do?"

"I model," he said, then added with a smirk, "and I own a fashion brand. Is that my fancy way of saying unemployed?"

"It suits you," I replied honestly. "You were always fashionable. Back in high school, I thought it was cool how you expressed yourself with clothes."

The playful ease in his demeanor shifted instantly. His smile faltered, and a mix of shock and something else—something heavier—flickered in his eyes.

"Really?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Yes. I still remember that cropped top you wore, and..." I trailed off as a memory resurfaced.

Jamie and Charlie. They'd humiliated him that day, mocking his choice, throwing slurs like daggers. And me? I'd done nothing. Tiana had been whining incessantly, and I'd tuned everything out, but that wasn't an excuse. I still remembered the way Josh had looked at me that day—like he expected something, like he hated me for letting it happen.

Josh looked away then, his face unreadable, but I could feel the tension radiating off him.

"The credits are rolling," he said abruptly. "We should go."

His voice was clipped, and I knew I'd ruined something. I needed to fix it, but my brain scrambled for the right words.

"I... I'd like to draw you," I blurted out.

Josh froze, his brows knitting together in confusion as he turned back to me.

"What?"

"Your face. It's very expressive. Faces like that are always a challenge to draw," I stammered. "I'd love to draw it."

He stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Why do you keep saying that?" he muttered under his breath.

"Saying what?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, dismissing me with a shake of his head.

I pushed forward anyway. "You said you model, right? I'm planning an exhibition later this year, and I was thinking about hiring a model to be my muse."

That was a lie. I hadn't planned anything, but it sounded convincing enough in my head.

Josh tilted his head, studying me. "Is that all you want?" he asked, his tone serious now. "For me to be your muse?"

No, it wasn't. But how could I say that? How could I tell him what I really wanted without ruining everything?

"Yes," I said finally, hating how weak the word sounded.

A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, so brief I almost missed it.

"Good," he said, masking whatever he was feeling as he sat up straighter. "My house isn't far. I'll walk the rest of the way."

"Wait—" I started, but he was already pushing the car door open.

"My manager will reach out to you. You two can figure something out. My rates aren't cheap," he said, his tone suddenly professional.

"Right. Great," I said, though the words felt hollow as I watched him walk away.

"Wait—how will he reach me?" I called after him, but he was already gone.

I slumped back in my seat, frustration bubbling up inside me.

Great. Just great. You messed it all up, Mark. Again.

Only this time, I wasn't sure how.

Authors note:
Word count: 2847.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. What do we think about Josh?