I dragged a brush through my hair and winced as it caught in tangles that had formed overnight. I splashed my face with water and grabbed myself breakfast. I stood next to the hob waiting for the eggs to turn white, ready to flip them. They hissed and spat at me when they made contact with the hot frying pan. I heard the key twist in the door and smirked, Laf didn't come home from his date yesterday which meant only one thing. He traipsed to the bathroom wearing the same clothes as when he left, only more wrinkled and creased.

"I take it the date went well?" I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

He rolled his eyes, "it did. I'm so tired, I didn't mean to sleep there, not that we did."

"Okay… do you want some breakfast?"

"Yes, please. My saviour."

I flipped the eggs - originally intended for me - and waited for a moment before putting them on a plate with toast. I left the plate on the breakfast bar ready for Laf's return and added two more eggs to the pan for myself. They sizzled and popped almost immediately, taking far less time to cook through. I risked leaving them for a moment longer to toast some bread and grab an extra plate. I timed it well enough to not have the eggs burn and served my own breakfast.

Lafayette sat beside me at the breakfast bar and began to eat the food, "merci, mon ami."

He paused after every bite to type or scroll on his phone whereas I ate in a trance, deep in thought. Three p.m. I had a fair few hours to get some things done. I could clean the apartment. I could read. I could plan lessons. I could… write some more of the book? I almost laughed aloud at the idea. It had been weeks, bordering months since I had sat in front of my laptop to get something written. I hadn't even done so much as put a pen to the paper. Nothing. No progress.

I finished the eggs and took our plates to the sink, washing them both along with the other pots and pans.

"Any plans for the day?" I asked.

"Ugh, I have three clients today. I don't have the energy for them. It's the lazy ones who don't really want to work out but also want celebrity bodies. Still, I suppose I get to shout at them."

I glared at him, "constructive criticism only. And motivation, too. You know what it's like to not like your body, Laf, help them embrace the person they want to be."

He groaned, "I hate it when you're right."

"You must hate me a lot," I smirked, getting his bottle of water from the fridge.

He thanked me and showered quickly, packed his gym bag and set off out again. I had the apartment to myself. Where would I start?

I began to scrub the breakfast bar clean of toast crumbs absentmindedly, hoping that I would be able to figure out what to do next if I started to do something. Anything.

Buzz.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and I unlocked it to see two texts from John. One from earlier on and the other from just now.

Morning! We still on for today?

Sorry, can we change the time to half three? A work thing came up.

I shot one back quickly.

Sure, no problem.

Buzz.

Sweet. See you then.

I felt my inner curiosity beginning to consume all of my other thoughts. What was his job? What did he do everyday? What came up at work? I had more time than I knew what to do with. I vacuumed the apartment as more questions came to mind. I fell down the rabbit hole of my imagination and began to answer some of my own questions.

I picked up the notebooks left lying on the coffee table and accidentally dropped several pages. My earlier drafts. Looking at them on the floor, scattered, I saw a new angle. I had gone wrong somewhere, where? The plot had something missing, so blatantly obvious, right in front of my nose and I couldn't see it. Maybe I needed to start again. I had so many ideas that it was hard to keep track.

I turned instead to the giant whiteboard hanging on the wall after abandoning the fallen sheets on the table. In different coloured writing, different ideas littered the surface of the board. Whenever I had an idea, the tiniest glimmer of inspiration, I would write it down on this board. And if I ran out of room, I would add sticky notes. Over the few years, the giant whiteboard had extended to the entire wall used to contain what could not be contained in my head.

I sat in the chair opposite the wall and stared at it, searching. In the past I had drawn lines connecting ideas, but looking from here I could see something was missing. I frowned in frustration and lit a few cinnamon scented candles around the room, trying to recreate some of my preferred thinking conditions. I paced in front of the wall as if it was under suspicion of a serious crime. I pondered over what I had so far. I began to hate the foundations of my story, the time since starting changing the way I saw the world. As I changed and developed, so did my creativity. It wasn't enough for me anymore, and if I wasn't writing for me, who was I writing for?

I checked my watch again for the fifth time in ten minutes. I could probably set off soon. I found my trainers and put on a simple jacket, too frustrated by my inability to form a secure plot to worry about the standard of my attire. I walked in the heat of the city to the corner bodega - as we had discussed - and waited. I was too early. The owner of the shop came out to change a few of the signs and greeted me. He told me about how his family were getting on and asked about my book, to which I responded with the standard reply, "I know I'm gonna get super inspired, any day now, I can feel it." Perhaps if I said it often enough, I would begin to believe it was true.

I felt a light tap on my shoulder as I inspected a few of the plant pots lined up on the sidewalk. John stood before me in casual clothing. Skinny jeans, t-shirt, trainers. His hair was half tied back, leaving a poof of curly hair to wrap around his face, shaping it.

"Sorry, it had to be so late, work was Hell. Shall we?" he apologised.

I smiled reassuringly, "sure thing, les'go."

We walked together, him leading the way slightly.

"It's just around the block, not too far."

"Nice, I really need coffee."

"God, me, too. I'm sort of like the manager at work and apparently nobody can cope ten minutes without me," he laughed.

"What do you do?" I asked.

He hesitated for a moment, "oh, loads. I have a lot of jobs. I'm mainly a mental health doctor slash psychiatric doctor , but I'm sort of the head of my ward, so I essentially do everyone's job for them whilst they gossip. But, I'm also a part-time therapist, I've got bits on the side, too. So, scared yet?"

"Not in the slightest. I think that's so awesome."

We turned the corner and he held the door to the café open for me. We sat at the table and ordered our drinks, he payed. I got a simple black; he got a latte.

"So, go on then, most people run and scream when I tell them about what I do, that means yours is worse. What do you do?"

"Me? Uh, I'm a teacher at the local elementary. So, I've got fifth grade," I started. I didn't want to tell him about the book just yet. Maybe if we saw each other again.

"Nice, so you don't go back till… Wednesday? I think?"

"Yup. I'm free till then. Then it's back to marking till I can't feel my hand," I joked, "no, I love it really. The kids are usually great."

He sipped at his coffee and winced, "way way too hot. You'd think I'd learn."

"Where's the fun in that?" I drank from my own, making the same mistake, "nope, you're right, ouch."

We laughed together. He had a cute laugh. His whole face laughed, not just his smile. He lit up. His eyes shone, wrinkled in the corners, dimples on both sides of his grin. It was contagious.

His phone started to ring and he mouthed 'sorry'.

He accepted the call, "hey… are you home? Good… where's your mama? Oh, right, okay… um, I'm gonna be a bit late today… be good for auntie Angie. Okay, ba-bye… we'll talk about it later, bye… bye," he hung up and turned to me, "sorry. Just home stuff."

He's married? He's got a kid? He's got a family? He's taken?

I bit my tongue, "it's cool."

"Where were we?"

"You were scolding yourself with coffee, I believe."

I cleared my mind of my suspicions. He wouldn't have asked me to the café if he was with someone, right? He seemed too nice to do that… right?

"So, Alex. What does your day look like? Tell me about yourself."

"Uh, I get up, I feed my roommate, I clean, I work, I shower, I repeat."

He smirked, "is sleeping not in there somewhere?"

"Sleep is a waste of time, and near damn impossible when you have the roommate I do. Let's just say that he likes to bring friends home," I scoffed.

"I dread to think. I haven't had that problem since I was seventeen back home."

I laughed, my brother was like that. I was still surprised that one of the people he brought back decided to marry him, "siblings?"

"Oh yes, four of them. Two sisters and two brothers, the sisters weren't a problem. I should think not as well, I think I scared any of the boys that came near them away. More the oldest sister, little one's only just sixteen. Speaking of, I need to go see them soon, it's been a while," he mused.

His phone started to ring again and he rolled his eyes, "yes? Wait… what? Who's asking for me? … Are you kidding me? Seriously, I leave you for half an hour and everything's gone to Hell already… sorry, yeah, I know, it's not your fault… just, I'll see what I can do," he rubbed temples in thought, "give him an Ativan injection for now… make him comfortable… of course he doesn't trust you, he's scared… Don't be… threatening... You know what I mean, just... cut the whole medical talk, it freaks people out more… act like a human being… okay? Yeah, see you soon… bye."

"Everything okay?" I asked. It was a stupid question.

"No, I have to go back to work. Is that okay? Sorry, I really wanted to see you," he sighed.

"It's not a problem, I get it. Besides, this won't be the last time I see you. We can go out another time."

His face lit up again, "really?"

"Of course, I want to see you again."

"Well, text me," he smiled but it was immediately wiped from his face by the sound of his phone for a third time, "sorry, Alex, text me, or I'll text you. See you later."

"See you later."

He answered the phone as he walked to the door, "yes? I know, I know, I'm on my way. She already called me… just do what I said and wait for me to get there..."

I finished my coffee and left for my apartment, my brain worked at such a speed it was hard to keep up. Question after question invaded my mind and I grew annoyed at my inability to answer them. I shut the door behind me and returned to my seat in front of the wall. I wanted to start again. A blank canvas, a fresh sheet. I went to my office, the spare room with a desk and a couple bookshelves, and pulled out a spare box. Conscious of the fact that I could change my mind, I took a picture of the wall and started to take down the sticky notes and wipe the whiteboard clean. I placed everything in the box and took it to my office.

I paced the apartment, backwards and forwards. When nothing came to mind, I switched on the radio and made myself another coffee. An old Spanish song came on that I recognised and hummed along to.

"All I need is a half decent plot, come on, Alex, come on. Think," I muttered to myself.

I stood out on the fire escape with my coffee and watched the street, waiting for something to happen. Anything. I needed an idea.

"I need characters. Good characters."

I saw kids riding their bikes in the street, having fun. They shouted at each other to get one another's attention. They were racing. I went back inside and flopped onto the sofa. A moment later, Laf bounced into the room, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Whoa, what happened to the wall?"

"I didn't like what I had, I'm starting again," I grumbled.

"Someone's grouchy, date not go well?"

"No, no, it did. I mean, he had to leave early for work, but it didn't go bad. I just, this book is pissing me off. Why did I choose to start one? I'm an idiot. Maybe I should just… not."

Laf crouched down to me where I lay, "you're not an idiot, you're just blocked. It'll come to you, you know it will. You just have to be patient, mon ami."

"How was work? You're in a better mood, what happened?"

"It went better than expected. I have a new client," he smiled.

I rolled my eyes, "Laf, you just went on a date. Another one, really?"

"Alex, this one, I swear…" he started.

I mocked in a terrible French accent what he was going to say next, having heard this line more times than I could count, "... this one is different, mon ami," it was his turn to roll his eyes, "but Laf, you know that's…"

"That's what you said last time. It's time to get serious," he mocked me, "but then again, where's the fun in that?"

"Just don't go breaking your heart. Don't catch feelings you don't intend to keep."

"I won't. I promise."

He left me to shower again. I heard him singing something though I couldn't figure out what it was. I started to cook dinner. Spaghetti Bolognese was the best I could do with the ingredients in the apartment. I browned the mince and tapped my foot along to the music. It was one of the annoying songs that got stuck in your head and you unwillingly learnt the lyrics. I added the sauce and let it simmer whilst I started on the spaghetti. Laf emerged from the bathroom with a clean hoodie and wet hair, "oh, thanks. You didn't have to cook, I would have…"

"Don't sweat it, it helps me think. Spaghetti's okay, right?"

He nodded, "of course, it's my favourite."

"I thought croque monsieur was your favourite?"

"I have a lot of favourites."

I shrugged, "fair enough, can you watch the pasta while I get changed?"

"Sure."

I found a pair of sweatpants and an old hoodie to throw on. I tied my hair back and went back to check on the spaghetti. It was ready. I dished out two servings and put the leftover sauce into tupperware boxes on the counter to cool. They could go in the freezer. I grated some cheese on top of the food, extra for Laf knowing how much he loved the food.

We sat on the sofa together and watched a movie.

"How can you cook so well? It's annoying, I'm French, why can't I?"

"Because I practise. You would just rather order pizza even though you're a personal trainer and should know it's not good for you."

He frowned, "but pizza is so good."

"I'll make you homemade pizza if it makes you happy," I laughed.

"Yes! It would make me happy, very happy."

"If you get some yeast and tomato puree tomorrow on your way home from work, I promise I will make you pizza. Deal?"

"Deal. You are too good to me."

I grinned, "I know."

I took the finished dishes to the sink and washed them as Laf told me about the girl he met at work, "she's way out of my league."

"Oh, Laf. It's okay, the sun will always rise and dogs will always be happy to see you," I teased.

"I know you're trying to make fun of me, but the joke's on you because that fact fills me with happiness. So, ha."

"You'll always be my favourite Frenchman."

He dried the dishes after I washed them, "I mean, you don't understand, it's like, she's just… and I'm…"

"Hey, no, we've talked about this, none of that. You are you. Just be yourself. Let people see the real, imperfect, flawed, quirky, weird, beautiful, magical person that you are. If she doesn't like that then she's not worth your time."

"How are you not married with twenty thousand kids and the entire population in love with you when you say things like that? Look, I'm all smiley and gross now, stop. You're making me feel good about myself."

"That's kind of the point, doofus," I smiled, happy to see my friend wasn't feeling so down.

"What about you then?"

"Me?"

He nodded, "yeah, are you catching feeling? Because you seemed like it last night."

"I don't know, I only met the dude yesterday. I don't even know him, but he's got so much good in him. But…"

"But?"

"But," I thought about the phone call, about the background on his phone, "nothing. You know what I'm like. I overthink things."

"That's what I worry about, mon ami."

I scoffed, "you can talk."

"Mhm, true. That's a good point. Well, I'm going to bed, I'll be up early for work so I might not be here when you wake up," he paused, "well, depending on if you actually sleep tonight."

"I'll sleep when I drop."

He muttered something under his breath as he walked away and mumbled his goodnight farewells.

I lit the candles again and started to jot down a few notes on the whiteboard, just words I had heard around the city that I could use. Quotes. Snippets of life in New York.

Buzz.

Sorry about today. My staff are helpless.

I responded after a few moments. I didn't want to seem too desperate.

Don't worry about it. If anything your commitment to your job is sweet, you're a good person. I can see that already.

Not the smoothest thing in the world, Alex.

Same place tomorrow? Meet at the café? He asked.

Sure, whatever time works for you.

I'm not supposed to be working tomorrow, you pick.

12pm?

It's a date.

It's a date. It's a date. It sounds so much better when he says it. For a moment, I forgot all of my other doubts. Tomorrow at twelve. I couldn't wait.