Folk's fingers were flying as he typed, eyes scanning the words as they presented themselves on the document. He would pause occasionally, thinking over what he would type next, before he would almost immediately continue on, getting out sentence after sentence. A smile would momentarily grace itself on his lips, a small show that he was getting exactly where he wanted. Getting exactly what he wanted.
Or at least, that's what he imagined himself doing.
In reality, he had been sitting there for the past ten minutes, fingers glued to the same keys that they had rested on originally, his eyebrows knit together in frustration as he tried to piece together even a simple title for he had planned on starting. The coffee that he had ordered sat beside his laptop, abandoned, the steam that had been swirling above it long gone as it had gone cold.
Being an author was frustrating. Writers block, even more so.
He pushed his laptop back finally, shooting out a short sigh in annoyance. Two words had been typed out since he had started writing out the novel earlier that week.
Chapter One.
After having his first novel published, it seemed that any talent he had with writing had been spit on, stomped on, and flushed down the drain, swirling around in its pitifulness.
He was about to chuck his coffee across the small shop when the door opened, the bell tinkling. The door quietly shut behind the man that had walked in. Folk sighed, and pulled his laptop closer to him, trying to ignore and hopefully be ignored by...him. His fingers flew as he typed out random gibberish onto the document, in hopes that it would look like he was actually being productive, even successful, in the very high chance that he was noticed.
He grit his teeth, the buttons clicking loudly as his fingers slammed against them. A quick glance over to the counter revealed that he hadn't been noticed just yet. He reached up and pulled his beanie farther down, his eyes not leaving the man.
He couldn't be noticed. Not at a time like this.
Quickly, he looked back to the screen, eyes scanning over what he had typed. Nonsense. Absolute nonsense.
"What are you writing?"
He froze instantly, eyes widening when the voice hit him from behind.
He swallowed, slamming his eyes shut. "None of your damn business." He hissed out, shutting his laptop.
"I was just asking."
The voice was now in front of him, along with the man who owned the voice, sitting calmly in the chair on the opposite side of the small table.
"And I was just subtly telling you to fuck off."
Aksel scoffed, a small smirk playing itself across his lips. "Didn't get the hint, I suppose." He said, shrugging.
Folk grabbed his bag from the side of the table, removing his laptop from the table and moving it to his bag, the eyes of the asshole who couldn't take a hint watching his every move.
"What do you want?" Folk asked, readjusting a few things in his bag, glancing up at Aksel every so often. "Because if you need something, you have exactly two minutes to tell me."
"I don't need anything." Aksel said calmly, his fingers drumming soundlessly against the table.
"Then why are you bothering me?" Folk hissed through gritted teeth.
"I just…like looking at you."
Folk immediately paused, his eyes not leaving Aksel, who had the nerve to still sit there. "W-What?" Folk stuttered, trying to hold back the blush that was no doubt contrasting greatly against his pale skin.
"From an artist perspective, you're a masterpiece." Aksel said, as if it was a casual thing to say. "Your eyes are a pretty blue, your skin is pale, but not an ugly pale. Your cheekbones are crazy wonderful. Your lips are full, and you're nose is a nice shape. And from a normal perspective, you aren't bad to look at."
After waiting a moment to respond, having to take his time to take everything that Aksel had said in, his cheeks flared up. "You're crazy." Folk said, slinging his bag over his shoulder and standing up, shoving his chair back under the table.
"I'm just saying you're attractive. Either you take the compliment or you don't." Aksel shrugged, taking his first sip of his coffee.
To that, he had nothing to say in return. He adjusted his bag and headed for the exit, his head spinning.
Aksel grabbed his wrist, stopping him.
"What do you want?" Folk hissed, trying to get his wrist free of Aksel's tight grip.
Aksel held up a small piece of paper with his free hand. "Either you take it or you don't." He said, the smirk returning.
At that, his wrist was released. He glanced down at the paper, scolding himself when he took it from Aksel's fingers, and screaming at himself when Aksel's smirk grew.
As soon as he was out of the shop he unfolded the piece of paper, his already red face going even brighter.
This did not mean he was going to call him.
...Or maybe…it did.
The end.