[who would’ve thought I would write to this prompt for this story. not a chapter, though. just a little *really lil* scene!]

“Hey, Boston?” I start, looking down at my feet which dangle in the water. “Why isn’t your dad here?”

My eyes flicker to his as I notice his muscles tense up. The length of his arm is pressed against mine, but he seems too far.

_Not close enough. _I bite my tongue, shaking those thoughts away.

Did I forget to tell my brain that our relationship is fake, and that nobody else is around? Not even Boston’s mother. She went to bed early, something about a lack of vitamins or… something.

“Well,” Boston mumbles, his voice quiet. _It’s not good_, I realize as I analyze his face.

_No, duh, Sherlock._ I think.

_Why do I have two voices in my head, anyways?_

“My parents filed for a divorce.”

_What_?

_I thought the Mr and Mrs. Otkins were perfect for each other. It was love at first sight…_

My gaze returns to the clear water of the saltwater pool, clearing my throat as if it could scare away the tension. How do I change the subject?

I finally muster up some courage to ask the question that’s been dying to leave my lips.

“Do you think you should be friends before a relationship?”

Boston looks at me, but I keep my eyes fixed on the water. “Why do you say that?” His tone is lighter, almost like this is amusing to him.

“Well, some marriages don’t work out… for some reasons, but I was wondering if—”

_Too soon, Callie. Too soon. _

_He’s going to hate you._

I bite my lip, forcing my eyes closed.

_I can’t do that to him._

“Keep going,” Boston urges, to my confusion.

“Maybe it was because they were never friends.”

Beside me, he hums in response. “Do you think it’s weird for friends to date?”

“Not necessarily,” I reply, placing my hands behind me so I can lean back, “People believed ‘us’ like they believe politics.”

That earns a full laugh from Boston.

“Cals, have I ever told you about your way with words?”

I glance over at him. His eyes completely trap me in the moment, with a tint of something I can’t even begin to describe. Can he compliment me more?

A blush rushes to my cheeks at the thought.

Do I…? **_No._**

“I’m better at _sketching_, Bozo,” I tease, reaching forward to tap his shoulder. That’s my favorite nickname for him, even though it describes him inadequately.

He’s probably the smartest guy I’ve ever met, and he’s nice and ho—

“Callie.” The simple word, my name, with his voice sends shivers down my spine.

_When did he get so close?_

His face is only a few inches away. “Care to explain why you’re blushing?”

I push him lightly, trying to distract myself from his smile and his flirting and his face and his—

Boston only inches closer.

“Calliope, I’m starting to think this isn’t fake.”

Completely entranced by his everything, I’m not quite sure I nod at that. I meant to, but did I?

My question is answered as his lips meet mine.

It’s soft and short, but butterflies are everywhere.

I pull away, hopefully not too abruptly.

“Can we do that again?” We both say, almost simultaneously. We both laugh, and then we agree to the other’s request.