My apartment was kind of like what you might see on an episode of hoarders, except if the hoarder lived in a ninety square-foot apartment. It looked more like if somebody grabbed a random, small section of a hallway, covered it in brick, and slapped a dingy window on one end and a door on the other. For perspective, the walls were only one foot wider than my single mattress.

Oddly enough, I kind of liked the cramped living space. I knew where everything was, and I’d become very good at deciding exactly what was essential for my life and what I didn’t need. It felt like my little hobbit hole. My escape from the bustle of the streets. It was cozy, even if I didn’t really have room to work on my art projects like I’d have wanted. I found ways to work around it, like staying late at the retirement home and using their space.

I had no plans for the night, which meant I was deep into my I’m-not-stepping-foot-out-of-the-house wardrobe. I wore an oversized, fuzzy cat-face sweater with sleeves that dangled over my hands. I’d shed my pants hours ago, and even if the police came to the door, those puppies weren’t going back on. It was going to be that kind of night: the perfect kind.

My mind still traced over the memory of talking to Ryan in his shop a few hours earlier. Like idle fingers moving over something out of place, my mind revisited every word and phrase, every hint of body language and moment of eye contact. I knew Paris was more important than anything right now, but I also knew it was only October. Art school wasn’t until January. Would it really be so bad to just have a little fun in the meantime? I mean, was I supposed to live like a nun for the next few months?

I wasn’t doing a great job of convincing myself, though. Getting into a relationship now would be like adopting a puppy with a terminal illness. I’d only be setting myself up for heartbreak, no matter how much those puppy eyes and those bulging, perfectly sculpted biceps were making me want to pull the trigger. I shook my head at myself. My brain couldn’t even keep the thought of Ryan and his biceps out of my puppy analogies.

I ran a longing eye over the posters on my wall. I had at least one from my favorite artists. I’d admittedly focused a little more on artists I might actually meet while I was in Paris, chief of which was Valeria Purgot. I fangirled over her hard enough that I’d actually sent a ridiculous letter with some samples of my work a few weeks ago. I liked to think it was subtle enough of a letter that it wasn’t obvious I was basically begging to be her apprentice, but it was probably obvious. I cringed a little just thinking about how quickly she’d probably dismissed it and thrown it aside, if she’d even seen it.

I pulled an instant cup of hot chocolate out of the microwave and cradled it in my sleeves as I sunk down onto the bed and got back into my latest horror movie marathon. The city nightlife was just getting underway outside. In New York City, it started at sundown and didn’t stop until sunup the next day, and I’d always found that invigorating and oddly comforting. It was like when I was a kid and I knew my parents were still awake downstairs while I slept. Somebody kept the light on. The reset switch never truly clicked, instead, the torch just passed from hand to hand and life rolled forward.

My phone rang. I half-heartedly checked the number, because the only people who called me at this hour were nurses confirming appointments or telemarketers. I considered hanging up when I saw the unknown number, but with my luck they’d leave a voicemail. A voicemail would join the two un-checked voicemails and stress me out for at least a week before I finally checked it.

“Hello?” I said into the phone. I popped a few stale pieces of popcorn into my mouth and waited for the inevitable, robotic recording to ask me if I was registered to vote, or if I’d been experiencing any unusual itching in my nether-regions.

“Emily?”

I almost choked. “Ryan?” I stammered, then coughed. “Sorry. I was expecting someone else.”

“Oh. If you’re busy I can call back at a better time.”

“No!” I cleared my throat and made a gesture to myself to calm down before I sounded like even more of a freak. “Sorry. I’m just on edge. I’ve been watching horror movies all night. I’m not busy. What’s up?”

There was a distinct pause, and I wondered if he was distracted, or trying to form the right words.

“I thought we should get to know each other a little better. We’re going to be working together on this project, after all.”

I chewed my lip and smiled. “How much are we going to be working together, exactly? I thought I was just making a poster and some props for you.”

“I’ll need to approve everything.” His voice sounded a little defensive. It was cute.

"Oh, right." My eyes wandered past the TV to the desk where my acceptance letter to Paris sat. I pinned the phone to my ear with my shoulder and then made the sign of the cross at the letter. Responsibility could be damned, at least for a little while. "Maybe you're right. How do you suggest we get to know each other? Should we play an icebreaker game over the phone?"

“The phone won’t work. I was thinking something in person. Tonight.”

I sat up straight and took a despairing glance down at my outfit. “Tonight?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“No reason. What were you thinking?”

“You said you’re watching horror movies? My roommate and his girlfriend are hogging the TV. Would I be an ass to invite myself over to watch some with you? I’m a huge horror movie buff.”

I caught myself chewing my lip again and made myself stop. I needed to have some damn self-control if I was going to survive this thing and still make it to the airport in January. It was just temporary. Just a little fun. I had to remember that.

“Well, I could use something more sturdy than a pillow to hide behind during all the scary parts.”

“Deal. I’ll bring takeout and some beers. Or does wine sound better?”

“Beer is good.”

“Perfect. I’m on my way.” The phone clicked off and I looked at it in confusion. How was he on his way when he didn’t even know my address?

It rang again a second later. I picked up with a knowing smile. “Forget something?” I asked.

“Yeah, where do you live, exactly?”

Ryan knocked on my door just over an hour later. I made a few strategic moves with the time since getting off the phone. Move one was putting on pants. Next, I kicked all my dirty clothes and random bits of underwear into nooks and crevices where he wouldn’t see them. After that, I spent a really long time perfecting the I-didn’t-spend-any-time-getting-ready,-I-just-always-look-his-well-put-together look in the mirror. I opted to keep the oversized sweater on. It might not be the most flattering look, but if we were actually watching horror movies together, I needed my armor.

My heart was pattering away when I opened the door. I smiled in a way I hoped said, "Oh, hey, welcome to my crib. I wasn't expecting you, and this is exactly how me and everything in here always look."

He hoisted a six-pack of beers and the classic brown bag suspended in a white plastic bag that universally signified Chinese takeout. You knew it was serious to-go food when it needed two bags to be safely contained.

“I forgot to ask what you like, so I just kind of got a little bit of everything.”

“Oh, don’t even worry about it. I don’t eat, anyway.” I opened my mouth, frowned down at the floor, and then shook my head. “I mean, I eat. I eat all the time. Tons of food, actually. Human garbage disposal, practically.” I pressed my lips together to stop the verbal diarrhea that seemed intent on flying out of my mouth.

When I’d been purposefully trying to keep things strictly North and South Korea with him, it had seemed easy. Now that I was starting to let my fantasies wander again, I’d apparently lost the ability to communicate like a normal human being around him.

He met my rambling with an easy smile. “It sounds like I don’t need to worry about the food selection either way, then.” Ryan paused for a moment to take in all of my apartment, and it literally was a second, because there wasn’t that much to take in. I braced myself for a sarcastic or worried comment about how small it was, but he only moved beside the bed and set all the food down on the table beside it, which doubled as my kitchen table, drawing space, microwave food prep space, and sometimes as an extra surface for piling dirty clothes.

“I don’t want to be presumptuous, but the table is facing the wrong way to watch TV. Does this mean we’re eating in your bed together?”

“Is that weird?” I asked. “I hadn’t even thought about it, but I could try to move the table or something.”

“It’s only weird if you make it weird.”

"I promise, no weirdness from me, but I shotgun the wall side. I feel safer in the corner."

“Deal.”

Ryan spread out the food across the bed on paper plates in a mini buffet and set two beers on the windowsill for me. It was probably highly unhygienic to be eating this much food in my bed, but I could always wash the comforter. Besides, it's not like I didn't already do it all the time.

My horror movie marathon was a self-composed collection of a combination between Netflix movies and movies I still had on DVD from the dark ages of my childhood.

I popped a piece of sweet and sour chicken in my mouth and turned the first movie on. Scream. “Hopefully you’re okay with my selection, here,” I said, “because you may have brought all the supplies, but I’ve been planning this movie night for hours. I had a very specific order in mind.”

“Hey. I’m just here for an excuse to drink and eat junk food on a Wednesday. If I wasn’t doing it next to a cute girl, it’d seem depressing instead of fun.”

“Where is she and how’d you get her in here?”

“What?” he asked.

I swallowed and winced. Joke number one of the night sailed right over his head. “I was trying to say that I wasn’t, well, nevermind.”

He grinned. “I’m just messing with you. I got it. Seriously though, you’re cute. I like the whole artist look you have going on. You really pull it off.”

I tried to think of something self-deprecating and charming to say. My muddled brain forced me to settle for a nervous laugh that sounded more like an asthmatic horse.

He burst out laughing at the sound.

I couldn’t help grinning along like I was in on the joke. “That’s not how I laugh. Normally.”

Ryan's eyes seemed to twinkle as he looked at me and tried to control his laughter. "Well, it should be. I wish I had a recording of that noise. Having a bad day would be impossible. I'd just whip it out and listen to whatever that was on repeat."

“Whenever you’re done teasing me, I was thinking about actually starting a movie. I have six hours of movies to get through tonight and work in the morning for my new boss, so I need to get this show on the road.”

“New boss, huh? What’s he like?”

I made a show of thinking hard. “Well, if he wasn’t an ass who made fun of people for sounds they couldn’t control, he’d be okay.”

“Just okay? It sounds like you need to get to know him better.” Ryan’s eyes seemed to get heavier, and I felt the offer hanging in the air between us. He inched closer to me, and I knew I was seconds away from kissing him. Paris couldn’t have been farther from my mind when I put my hand down on the bed and leaned in.

The intro credits for Scream blared through my apartment, making me jump back from Ryan like I was fifteen and my parents had just walked in on me with a pillow between my legs. No. That never happened. Definitely not even one time after I saw my first Ryan Gosling movie.

“Sorry,” I blurted. “I saw an eyelash on your cheek. I was about to get it and then… yeah.” I swiped my finger across his cheek and acted like I was brushing an eyelash away. “Got it.”

“Right. Thanks. You had something on your lip. I was about to get it.” His grin told me he knew exactly how full of crap I was, and then the way he slowly swiped his thumb across my bottom lip told me I still wasn’t in the clear. “Got it,” he said.

“Thanks.” I stuffed a huge bite of crab rangoon in my mouth and stared at the TV like my life depended on it. I chewed while my lip still felt like it burned hot from where he’d touched it.

My mind wandered for the first half of the movie. I replayed the moment when my hand must’ve pressed play on the remote, and how easy it would’ve been to simply grab the remote, pause the movie, and resume where the two of us left off.

At the same time, I felt pulled in two directions. Part of me obviously wanted something to develop with Ryan, or I wouldn’t have let tonight happen in the first place. Frustratingly, another part of me seemed to be running sabotage duty so I’d make it on my flight in January.