A man walked by wearing red plaid and a blue cable-knit scarf. He had black wayfarer glasses and a yellow slouchy beanie. Khakis loosely hugged his legs while his oxfords enclosed his large, awkward feet. As he walked by with his kindle, Logan said to me, "Guess his story."
"Native to SF, home of the hipsters," I joked.
He laughed and added, "Probably living in an art studio. His fingers are covered in ink and paint."
"Next?"
This game was a tradition between us. The first time I met Logan, before his fame and all that, we were at the subway station in NYC. I was interning at an art studio at the time, and figured I'd take my free day to spend some time basking in the metropolitan bliss of the Big Apple. Having come from southern California, I remember being extremely unprepared for the snow and wearing just a hoodie and jeans. I was hugging myself, jumping up and down, and rubbing my hands together to create warmth. But I still felt like a Californian chicken that came to the NYC freezer without my feathers. Then, a handsome boy who was walking by smiled at me and said, "Want my scarf?"
"No, thank you. I can handle it." I forced a smile, but my voice betrayed me by shaking from the coldness.
"Seriously, take it." He shoved it towards me, and seeing that I can barely move my limbs, he decided just to wrap it around my neck for me.
The scarf was extremely soft. The heat from his body had transferred onto the scarf, and still clung on to the scarf when he wrapped it around me. It was almost as if our bodies shared this inner warmth. I could feel his body heat around my neck. I instantly blushed and looked down, deciding on the next move. But there was no need, because he had already decided his move.
"You're still cold aren't you? Come here," he said, whilst opening his strong arms and creating an entryway into his warmth.
I shook my head no, but he insisted I should. "A gentleman shan't leave a lady cold," he said. And then he tilted his head to the side, raised his eyebrows, and gave me one of those convincing lopsided smiles.
"Fine, gosh. I guess I have to," I jokingly said, even though I wanted nothing but a nice, warm bear hug from him to save me from the iciness of the station.
I slowly walked into his arms and the moment my nose touched his chest, he wrapped and secured his arms around me. It took me a while to react to this. But once I did, I slowly put my arms around him. I could feel his smile on my shoulder.
His warmth was something I didn't expect. To be honest, when I first saw him, I thought he would be a giant douchebag or frat boy. And yet, in this hug, I was proven otherwise. Our feet locked together: mine, his, mine, then his. His arms were firm and strong, making me feel like I could be safe in his arms forever. I could feel his neck against my neck, his breath going into my spine, and his muscular jaw cradled on my shoulder. And just for a moment, the world stopped and nothing mattered. It was a moment of eternal bliss, but also a moment of regret—I knew that meeting him and hugging him would eventually lead to my own heartbreak. For who could ever love an ugly duckling like me?