Marth's insides turned to jelly at the thought of either option. There was no way he had £1050. But one night… There had to be a third option. He thought for a moment.

"How much have I cost you so far?"

Ike looked back at the wall. "£10 in paint…"

Marth knew the drill now. He braced himself.

"£250 in lost time. So £260."

Marth moaned. "Why is it so much?"

Ike, sympathetic, knelt down in front of him as if he was a small child. "In the time I've been here, I could have done several painting or one painting or perhaps even a sculpture worth £260. You ought to have Googled me."

Marth's mind boggled at the idea of making that much money in so short a time span. But he should have guessed from the stunningly lifelike appearance of the beetle Ike had painted on his face that Ike was no amateur. Marth suddenly realised that if Ike was offering him one night to cover the cost of the all the painting, not only would he be forfeiting the price of Marth's painted walls he would also be forfeiting the time of the one night he was offering, so depending how late he normally worked he could be giving Marth up to say £1650 worth of Ike-time. God it was weird putting a price on time like that.

"But you threw paint at that wall of your own accord!" Marth complained.

"You called me over here!" Ike retaliated.

Marth sighed, exasperated. He did like the wall – it had been turned from a simple red splash into a stunning sort of organic explosion. It was the only unique feature in the whole house. He went to his cheque book and wrote out a cheque for £260 and handed it to Ike, who took it wordlessly before looking around one last time, muttering "I hate Magnolia" and leaving.

Alone, Marth decided to take the delayed advice and Google search Ike on the internet. There were a few articled mentioning him, mostly review on galleries that Ike had supplied paintings for. So far there was nothing more than a passing mention of him; but it was clear from the critics comments that Ike Greil was an artist on his was up and was a new talent worth keeping an eye on. He had his own website as well, a simple enough site with online galleries of his work. It looked like Ike had painted everything in every style – from stunning still life realism to modern and abstract. He'd done sculptures in clay pottery, metal wire and even Blu-tack. He'd even attempted some photography. Most of his work so far had been sold but there were some new pieces being auctioned over, the highest one current at £500. Marth logged off. He really should have Googled Ike before he called him, but he'd just never imagined that a professional artist would dash into a café for a super strong coffee or paint his sister's belly. It just didn't fit with his idea of a painter – some hermit with a long beard in a cramped studio somewhere. He hoped Ike could forgive him for his ignorance and Magnolia walls.

The next morning Marth woke up to his no longer bland bedroom and got up to get ready for work. He'd decided to put the whole issue of the expense of the paintwork and Ike's offer of 'one night' firmly out of his mind. Yawning, he brushed his hair and then headed downstairs.

Downstairs Marth grabbed the cereal box and then looked for a bowl. He hadn't done some washing up for a while and the only clean bowls left were right at the top shelf of one of his kitchen cabinets. Great. Stretching on tiptoe he reached an arm out but he still wasn't tall enough so he jumped, hoisting himself up with the shelf in an attempt to snatch a bowl down instead – big mistake. With a loud rip the shelf came free from the back of the cabinet, dropping its load of bowls and glasses which quickly shattered all around him. Now he would have to buy some more. Great – more expenditure. Sighing, he stepped backwards to survey the damage – plunging his heel into a sharp piece of glass as he did so. He swore, the sight of blood making him lose his appetite. Already feeling the day taking a negative turn, he decided to head straight to work.

"Are you alright?" Roy asked as Marth limped into the café.

"Hi Roy," Marth muttered back, working his way around the counter.

"Why are you limping?" Roy persisted.

"I accidentally smashed some bowls and glasses at home and trod in some of the wreckage.. My foot hurts."

"Ow. You want me to take a look at it?"

Marth looked up at him, surprised at the genuine concern in his voice.

"Erm…ok."

"Come on up to the staffroom." Roy put an arm around him and helped him up the stairs. Marth didn't really need the support, but the physical contact was nice so he didn't object. They sat down on one of the sofas in the staffroom and Marth removed the shoe and sock from the offending foot so that Roy could look at it.

"Oooh. That's nasty."

"What is it?" Marth fidgeted nervously.

"You've got a large chunk of glass stuck in your heel. Didn't you look at this at all?"

"I don't like the sight of blood," Marth explained. "Didn't you know that?"

"No – why would I?"

"It's one of my biggest hates – you know, like I hate things being left on standby."

"You hate things being left on standby? Why?"

"It wastes electricity, of course."

Roy stood up, left the room for a moment then came back with a damp cloth which he gently dabbed Marth's foot with.

"So you didn't know I hate seeing blood and stuff on standby?" Marth continued, somewhat distracted by the feeling of Roy's warm hand on his foot.

"No."

"But I've worked here for two years!" Marth cried.

Roy gave a small smile. "We don't speak that much, you know."

Marth was about to deny it when he realised Roy was right. Because of his crush on Roy he'd never had the confidence to speak to him naturally, certainly not for any length of time anyway. He only assumed a casual air with Roy now because being offered a one night stand by a handsome stranger kind of overshadowed the relatively small thrill of talking to a work colleague he'd always fancied a bit.

"Sorry," he apologised. "We don't really, do we?"

"It's ok. Besides, you're so quiet normally. It's good to talk at last."

At last? Roy had wanted to talk to him before? He put on a smile. "Ask me anything you like." As soon as he'd said it he regretted his words. What if Roy asked him something really personal? Roy, evidently playing on this idea, leant closer to Marth, smiling, but all he eventually said was,

"Shall I take the glass out of your foot or do you want to?"

All Marth's disappointed adrenalin rushed to his vocal chords. "G…g…g-g-go ahead."

"Ok. 3…2…1…" Roy pinched the glass fragment firmly before pulling it out.

"OUCH!" Marth flinched reflexively.

Roy presented the bloody piece of glass to Marth triumphantly before remembering he hated the sight of blood. Marth paled dramatically.

"Urgh…Th-that is g-g-gross."

Roy threw the glass away and after cleaning the wound put a large plaster on it.

"There."

"Th-thanks." Deep breaths. Don't stammer – Roy's noticing.

"No problem. It's a pretty deep cut but it should heal nicely."

"Ok." Marth stood up and gingerly walked back downstairs.

One they were both downstairs, just as the first customer was walking in, Roy mused,

"I do actually have another question."

All the adrenalin rushed from Marth's vocal chords back down to his stomach.

"Are you free tonight?"

Oh. My. God. Ok, deal with the customer first.

"How can I help you?"

The customer made his order whilst Roy continued,

"I know a good Chinese takeaway and football highlights will be on. We could make an evening of it."

"That'll be £1.60 please." Ok, that sounded wrong.

"So what do you think?" Roy persisted.

"Your drink will be with you shortly." And that sounded even worse. Marth turned to address Roy properly.

"Well, I don't know…" Marth, what are you doing? Of course you know. "I mean…"

"Yeah I don't really know you. Sorry." Roy shrugged and grinned.

No, NOOO… Yeah, you really screwed that one up Marth. But the moment had gone. Too shy to bring it back again, Marth turned to the next customer.

Work ended with possible the worst day's job satisfaction ever. Frustrated and angry with himself, Marth returned home to clean up the broken mess from the morning. It was only once he'd finished he realised he had a message waiting on his answerphone. Could it be Roy refreshing his offer? Marth pressed a button and waited.

"Hello Marth, it's me, Ike Greil. Yeah look I just realised how it must have sounded when I said for you the alternate price of all your walls being painted was one night with me. I just meant… well I might be at risk of making it sound worse now, but being an artist is a lonely job. I was sort of hoping you'd come round for a pizza and a go at Fifa on the PS2 with me or something. Anyway, sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. Bye!"

The message ended but Marth continued to stare at the phone. Well that was wonderful. Not only had he smashed some bowls and missed out on an evening with Roy because of his own stupid shyness, he'd paid £260 for a single wall painting when Ike would have painted the lot for nothing more than a boy's night in! Seizing the phone furiously, he resolved to fix the last of these errors immediately. He could spend a night with Ike, and have his walls painted and get a refund for the £260 he hadn't really been able to spend. Ike answered on the fifth ring.

"Hello Ike Greil speaking."

"Hello. It's me, Marth."

"Oh yeah. Look I'm really sorry about my mis-phrasing the other day. It really wasn't intended."

"It's ok. I was just wondering – now that I understand what you meant is the offer still there?"

"The offer? Oh – the paint all your walls one. Yeah, sure."

"Great. Well then I'll accept."

"Awesome. When can you come over?"

Marth tried to eradicate the dodgier thoughts entering his mind as he replied, "Well I'm free tonight."

"Cool – come over whenever you like."

"Where do you live?"

"It's on the business card I gave you."

"Right, ok."

"See you later then." Ike hung up. Marth, feeling a little nervous that he had just arranged to meet up with a relative stranger for the evening, headed up to his room to think. He wanted to ponder his relationship with Roy, and how he was going to take things further, but in the end he simply ended up wondering if Ike would be topless again. Or at least wearing an open shirt, like the first time they had met in the café. But probably just topless.

So, an evening with Ike coming up... Please review! Thanks!