Perfect Guy

Chapter 1

I never run late. I couldn’t imagine twenty-year-old me being late to a date with this girl. He would show up in the best suit he had, which he would have snatched from his father's closet. The one that still hung slightly from his shoulders, rounding them in a way that made him look more intimidating than he was.

“Where you at, Danny?” she texted me.

A couple of turns, and one intersection. My hands gripped the wheel harder than they had before the text. As I raised them, my palms peeled off the leather with a wet sound, leaving two damp stains on the stitching. I wiped them on my jeans. She's the one who should be worried, not me. She has no idea who I am now. After another ‘turn right’ on the map, the place rose up ahead. I parked the car just outside it, and I saw her through the side window. Holding her phone, applying her lipstick frantically, adding the final touches to her eyeliner. I clenched my fist and closed my eyes. This can’t be happening. She was never a person to text first. Ever. But times have changed, right? I did. I drew in air and expelled it. My hand reached into the backseat and pulled out the bouquet of 100 crimson roses with a little note:

To Margo.

Chapter 2 Jake pulled the phone closer to us and spread two fingers across the screen, zooming in on the girl's chest.

“They can’t be real, man. She had to edit them.”

Steve shrugged and tipped his chin toward the end of the lecture hall, “We can’t see it from here either. She wears baggy clothes.”

The noise in the hall grew. Second year, but it looked as if the number of students had suddenly doubled, from a hundred to two hundred.

“Maybe instead of talking about her tits, you can come and talk to her?” I cut in.

Jake’s neck shortened, his eyes widened – only now could you see that his eyebrows weren’t fully formed yet, splaying outward, curling in their own wave.

“She’s got somebody,” he muttered, barely audible.

“What? Come again?” Steve asked.

“Boyfriend. She’s got a boyfriend.”

“Hm,” I let out a slightly smug grunt.

“What?”

“That wouldn’t stop me, Jake. If I really liked a girl.”

“So, you’re telling me if I get a girlfriend tomorrow, and you’d like her, you would still try to get with her.”

I turned my head slowly to the left, meeting with Jake’s confused eyes. My lips snapped into the right place, doing all the hard lifting.

“Well, of course not.”

It strongly depended on how attractive the girl was.

“Exactly, so what am I supposed to do?”

“What’s that girl next to her, by the way?” Steve asked.

“Look, my girl –” Jake hooked two fingers in the air on each side, a joke at his own expense, “–is to the left, leaning against somebody else’s fucking shoulder,” he hissed. His eyebrows turned inwards to his own eyeballs, “Her name is Maya,” he quickly pointed with his finger to the right, “and that is her best friend.”

Curly hair. Wired headphones around her ears. Her thigh-high boots rested on the edge of the desk. Both of her forearms barely had any skin space left, overcrowded by little tattoos all over them. She tilted her head back with a slow smile playing around her lips.

“What’s her name?”

“Maya, I told you.”

“No, her friend’s.”

“Oh,” he scratched the back of his head, “Steve, do you maybe know?”

He shook his head sideways.

Jake leaned his head toward my shoulder and muttered, “But I think she has a boyfriend too.”

Doesn’t matter if she does.

“And Danny, let’s be honest – you’re out of her league.”

I exhaled and turned my head even slower this time, “You’re right. She is,” I hesitated, “But you never know if you don’t try.”

I stood up, packed my bag, and threw it over my shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Steve looked up from his laptop.

“I’m going to make new friends,” I said with a massive breathless smile that felt almost primal. Jake raised a hand and gave a limp, slightly negligent flick of his wrist, “Let him do whatever the fuck he wants.”

I nodded to Jake and saw Steve hiding his chuckle behind his palms. I didn’t care. My focus had already shifted two tiers down in the lecture hall. What should I start with?

“Hey! My name’s Danny.”

“Hey! This class sucks. My name’s Danny.”

“What’s up? I’m Danny.”

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, I want to immerse myself in your cells.”

The lines were already almost rolling over my tongue. I imagined standing in front of her, looking at the way she bit inside of her cheek when she wasn’t paying attention. What I’d say. How she’d brush off the hair from her forehead to see who stood in front of her. How she’d look at me before answering.

“Sorry, man, passing through,” a voice muttered.

A tall blond guy in a faded hoodie slid past me, stepping into her row and dropping his bag on the desk. He leaned down and pressed a lazy kiss to her cheek. I looked back at the boys, and Jake started shaking his head off to the side, while Steve was no longer hiding his laughter, letting his whole body dance in his own chair, shaking uncontrollably. The doors swung wide, and the teacher walked in. I stepped backwards and sat in the nearest empty plastic seat. I licked my lips. Conversations started to fade. But the mysterious girl still leaned in her chair, playing with bracelets around her arm, not showing any sign of affection to a ‘boyfriend’ who brushed past me.

“Dear class. Since this year, we’re now officially checking the attendance at the lectures, so give yourself a little round of applause for already being here. I will quickly go through the list. You just need to raise your arm,” She paused, “People at the top, walk towards the balcony so that I can see all of you. My list is messy, so it’s not in alphabetical order.”

“Alex Rodriguez.”

She didn’t even look at the stage. Didn’t look at her phone either, just stared at something that nobody else could see. What was she thinking about?

“Michela Andrea.”

A new pair of shoes? A book that she wants to grab on the way out of the lecture? A date that she doesn’t really want to go on? My gaze drifted over her whole body, studying the rhythmic rise and fall of her breasts. I tried to decipher the tattoos closer, but I just saw shadows blending into one another.

“Viktor Gezemick.”

The guy next to her raised his hand. Viktor Gezemick. She was telling him something. Barely opening her mouth, keeping her lips flat, as his eyes remained locked onto hers.

“Jake Vyntracous.”

She clearly doesn’t want to be touched. How can you not see this?

“Ivano Gorgos.”

I curled my fingers inward, letting my fingernails bite viciously into the skin just above the joint.

“Margo Smith.”

She raised her hand. Margo Smith. I wrote it next to Viktor on the sheet in front of me and slipped it into my pocket.

After the lecture ended, I didn’t say bye to any of my friends and rushed home. Only when I entered my room did I pick up the sheet of paper out of my pocket and unfold it.

Margo Smith. I googled her name first. LinkedIn. Instagram. Twitter. Some charity organisations. I checked that one first.

Welcome Margo. Margo is a Business student at ESPC Business School. Originally born in Paris, she arrived in Berlin for the second year of her studies. By day, she's solving the complex business problems of the EU world, and by evening she teaches French and English to immigrant children and students, work she calls ‘the most meaningful part of my week.’

I looked up the lessons she gives. She manages three age groups.

7-12. 13-18. 19-23.

Lessons usually go one after another.

Monday. Wednesday. Friday.

The earliest group starts at 17:00 and the final finishes at 20:00.

Interesting. That’s why I had never seen her before. Exchange. My fingers started to glide slowly back and forth across the edge of my front teeth. I pulled out a clean notebook from the drawer.

Name: Margo Smith

Age: Unknown

Hobbies: languages (?), travelling (?)

Work: Works at the AESCO (School for Immigrants) near the centre

I returned to the general search page and checked out her Twitter. Inactive, mostly. A repost from two days ago about the Kyiv bombing. A photo of the Kyiv metro station, mothers and children huddled together in oversized winter puffers. #StandWithUkraine. A few comments under Billie Eilish posts. Met Gala threads.

Activist, I noted.

LinkedIn. Almost empty. ICS Paris diploma. A Swim-a-thon Coordinator. Experience: Styling Intern, Atelier Bonifique. Dressing and managing models backstage. Three weeks. Unpaid, I assumed.

Possibly interested in swimming and fashion.

Languages. Three of them had limited working proficiency (Spanish, German, Italian), and only two were fluent (French and English). Before the thought slipped away, I scratched a light note and boxed it with a quick, messy square.

Review the surname origin and check her ethnicity.

Instagram.

margoily08

Why 08? Birth year? Or just a random number?

Possibly 20 years old

Berlin

Paris

29’

4500 followers.

300 following.

6 posts.

My eyes never left the screen, as the word Minimalism found its place on the page. In the last two posts, she and Viktor stood together. In one picture, she sat across his shoulders in a visibly crowded area. Concert? Festival? He placed his hands around her thighs, which were peeking through her white shorts. She wore a dark green cropped top. I took a screenshot and cropped Viktor out of the picture. The second one was her leaning against him on the beach and kissing his smug face. He placed his hand on her waist from behind. I imagined his fingertips gripping her skin, leaving prints. I bit the inside of my cheek and swallowed. Next picture, a carousel. Photo with friends in a booth. A jacket embroidered with fur down to her waist. Hair done in a bun, a pearl necklace around her neck. Makeup seemed to be done the same way as today, eyeliner that stretched just a bit too long, and vulgarly red lipstick. Screenshot.

Wears mostly silver jewellery.

Warm neutral colours.

Almost avoids black.

The last picture was of her at the Deftones concert. Faded vintage T-shirt, with a pair of baggy jeans cinched high at the waist.

Dresses to be noticed.

Rock Music Fan.

She also had a couple of highlights. Most were just books or tracks. But there was also one titled show. Shaky vertical clips of a runway shot. Backstage shots. A printed invitation card with her name on it that she held in front of the showroom mirror.

Serious about fashion. Not a hobby.

The goals for the week went into my notebook.

Listen to 10 Albums she liked this week.

Read one book from her highlights.

Research the exact names of her style.

Research Viktor's page.

30 minutes daily French learning.

I set the reminder to check her profile again at 9 pm. ¬– every day, for the rest of the month.

Chapter 3

The silver spoon clinked softly against the porcelain as her eyes stayed on the bouquet. I took a long sip.

“Do you like them?”

She turned to the side, and her expression softened, as a grin stretched across her face.

“Of course, I like them. How could I not? You really shouldn’t have.”

“Why not? It’s been a while since we’ve talked to each other, hasn’t it?”

A drop of sweat glided from my armpit. I hoped my shirt wouldn’t have any wet spots in that area.

Her hands tapped the table, “Right?! When I asked Viktoria if she knew anybody working in fashion in Paris, and she mentioned you, I was so–” she hesitated, “glad to hear this is somebody I know,” the smile flattened, words came out simultaneously with her sigh, “You really don’t know how hard it is to get the job nowadays.”

I nodded back, “I do,” I imitated her motions, and stirred my coffee with my eyes fixed on her.

“You’ve grown, Danny,” she rested her chin on one of her hands, “You really did.”

“Should I take it as a compliment?”

“Pff, of course!” she shot back, her eyes dancing with pure amusement.

The waiter approached our table.

“Vous désirez ?”

“Don’t worry, I got it, Danny. On peut–?”

“On peut avoir deux soupes à l'oignon, s'il vous plaît ? Et une grande côte de bœuf pour deux. Ça ne te dérange pas que je prenne ça ?”

Her mouth opened slightly. She nodded.

“Ah, et un jus d'orange... vous en avez un excellent ici !”

“Bien sûr, monsieur”

Her eyes narrowed a fraction. I used to draw those eyes in my notebook. Once I found a shop that photographs your irises and sets them in resin, turns them into pendants. I brought my drawing instead. They said it wasn't authentic. Declined to help.

“You know French?”

I grinned.

“After two years of living here, you could do far more,” I took a sip, “So why did Viktoria give you my number?”

“She said,” Margo started gesturing around, barely keeping her coffee cup from spilling, “There’s somebody from our class who is in Paris, and honestly, until she showed me your picture at the graduation ceremony, I didn’t recognise you,” she put a hand to her chest, and giggled. “Sorry, Danny.”

I chuckled back at her, “It’s okay.”

“She mentioned you know a lot of people here, and even helped her out, so she thought you might have something for me. You work at The Mere Smith, right?”

“You could say that.”

She placed her hand against her mouth. For a second, she held her breath.

“I love them. Really took that dead old leather-goods house, and look at them now – sold out an hour after each drop. Some called them crazy for putting out a collection where everything looked half-destroyed, all those raw seams on the outside, but oh well,” she took a sip of coffee, “The public clearly disagreed.”

“You did your homework, huh?”

“I mean, if you look at what’s happening out there,” she extended her arm in a sweeping manner, “Everyone is so afraid of looking stupid that everything comes out safe, or just the same. But these guys?” She licked her lips. “They would rather offend you than bore you.”

I nodded back in agreement.

The more silence I gave back to her, the louder she talked. She kept swallowing mid- sentence, trying to lubricate her throat without slowing down, making sure I heard everything she knew about The Mere Smith. How had she not picked up the name yet? Her curly hair, which was thicker now, spilt over her shoulder as if she’d just woken up. The tattoos on the right forearm seemed to vanish – only a bleached-out outline stayed. Her lips seemed puffier, but it wasn’t Botox. If she had gotten it, I would have known.

“Sorry, I'm ranting. I just–I want to work there. I have a whole notebook of ideas for where they could go next, but–” She stopped herself.

“But? Tell me about them.” I leaned forward.

The excitement dimmed in her eyes, “Sorry, Danny, I think I want to talk to the founder about those first,” she hesitated, “Would it be possible for me to talk to him? Could you arrange that?”

I grinned, “You’re talking to him right now.”

Chapter 4

I hadn’t seen Margo in over ten days. No posts on Instagram. It was as if she’d become a ghost after the semester finished. What also changed was the number of pictures and stories involving Viktor. Twenty stories down to five, two posts down to one. If Margo took hers down, there was a reason. And it came from her side, as Viktor still had her all over his page – with their last joint picture taken on December 5th.

Twenty days since they'd looked like they were still together.

As much as I hated a two-week holiday break, it had numerous advantages too. I could further prepare for my French exam, which was set for the next month, finish the Ripliad, and, of course, dedicate more of my time to the internship at Richemont. It was something far from what I expected, and none of my friends really understood the choice or the terms I had agreed on. $100 per month for over twenty-eight hours of work, with constant assignments. All of that with zero respect from employees and being treated like a ‘get me this coffee now’ type of guy. Honestly? I didn’t mind. You get used to it. I was working on the competitor report that nobody was really going to read, even the supervisor who assigned it to me. Somehow, I talked her into getting me access to some of the more ‘important’ meetings. She agreed on one condition. I couldn’t speak. Not even a word.

This internship was my first working experience. Never did I think that I’d end up doing something related to fashion, jewellery, or anything even adjacent. But here I was, surrounded by people who all spoke in that same quiet voice. Every morning, I saw the same picture: employees in the lower positions entered with a barely audible ‘Morning’, eyes fixed on the floor, dragging themselves to their desks. The ones whose decisions mattered more hid in the cafeteria or the bathroom for the first thirty minutes. Anything to postpone the suffering.

The company was built on this. Hearing a compliment from somebody of your status was borderline impossible; you were more likely to hear ‘what could be done better.’ People who knew each other’s names passed through corridors without eye contact, acting like nobody needed each other. Which, of course, meant the opposite. Because the moment someone a tier above called your name, a warm smile broke through, erasing all the tension. They’d stand there in the middle of the stage, their name spoken next to Richemont’s, and all you could see was pride. I imagined them rushing to call their wives, husbands, friends about that one exact moment. If you hate it so much, why not leave? But that was the thing. They hated it exactly as much as they loved it. For them, just being allowed to be a part of this empire, not quite being the most crucial piece of it, but important enough to make you feel valued, was enough to overshadow the mundane reality of actual work.

I opened my notebook and wrote down a new task just below the crossed-out, ‘Buy tickets to Paris.’:

Learn how to make somebody desire something so much that they can’t imagine their life without it.

Chapter 5

“What was that walk, man?” Steve’s jaw dropped, and a hollow laugh followed.

“Man, we’re just gonna play pool. Why did you dress like you’re going to a date?” Jake extended his palm and exchanged a familiar handshake, “You’re not going on a date, right?”

I didn’t answer Jake’s question. Nor did I give any sort of reaction to Steve. I knew I looked good. A combination of a dark grey coat, slouchy velvet pants and an ink-black sweater couldn’t look bad. Or poor.

“Where can I hang my coat?”

“Just drop it on the chair, man,” Steve replied.

‘Just drop it on the chair,’ I paid over $500 for it, there was no chance I would drop it on the chair. I folded it and placed it on my lap.

“So, tell us, man, how’s life? It’s been two months since we saw each other, glad we caught you at least on the holiday.”

I really didn’t want to go. I had so many better things to do.

“Well, it’s been nothing much, honestly. I’m working now, mostly just studying too, you know how it goes?”

Steve took a sip, foam clinging to his overgrown moustache, “What job? Sales assistant somewhere?”

“No, not quite. Sort of a communications manager at Richemont, but that’s an internship.”

“I thought they hired only girls, no?” Jake put heavy emphasis on ‘only girls, no?’

“Not really,” my voice flattened, “It’s a common misconception.” I kept my face still. “Anyway, I’ve heard you got a girl, Jake. Tell me about her.”

“I got one too now,” Steve cut in.

Both chuckled.

“Yeah, yesterday we two went on a double date, could you imagine what that dumbass asked my girl about while we were eating?”

I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow.

“He asked if she knew about that one time I went to a hooker.”

“No, you didn’t,” I gasped in disbelief.

Steve let out a wet, whiny laugh.

“But hey, look, that wasn’t the worst part. Now his girl is drilling him about whether he went or not.”

“Steve, you never went, right?”

“Danny, do I look like a saint?”

Both leaned back on their chairs, choking on the high, nasal laugh. My eyes dropped to the floor. I hoped the redness on my skin wouldn’t give away the embarrassment burning in me.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Huh?”

“I know what gift Danny will get on his upcoming birthday.”

Steve slapped his palms together and started slamming the table with the hollow joy in his eyes.

“No, thanks, guys. I pass.”

“Brother, move on, you won’t ever be with her. There’s no reason to obsess about it,” Jake knocked his knuckles into my arm, “So many other girls around here.”

“She sleeps around, anyway. You really want a girl like that?”

What do they know about her? They don’t know anything. Not who she is. Not what she’s been through. Judging is the easiest thing to do. I placed my hands on the table, elbows slightly hanging out.

Jake’s grin slid off him as he saw me do it. He lightly patted me on the back.

“We’re your friends, bro. Your real ones. You really don’t have to put on this face like nobody’s good enough to be around you. We’d never wish you anything bad. You know that, right?”

“Right, right.”

Wrong.

“I’m serious,” Jake insisted.

“I know. I know. I appreciate it.”

I didn’t. He held my gaze for a second longer before moving on, then let it go.

“Alright,” Jake stood up, “I’m going to get two beers for us.”

“Can you get me an Aperol Spritz?” I said.

Two sets of eyes locked on me.

“Danny, you drink now?” Steve asked.

Jake looked at me as if I had asked him to kill someone for me.

“Since when?”

Chapter 6

We’d been walking around Paris for the past couple of hours. I’d walked these streets hundreds of times, but never like this. It helped that I’d changed my business name to Yenny Troyard ¬– it sounded more prestigious than Danny Meier.

She kept circling back to it. How she admired something and never thought about who ran it or just haven’t paid attention to.

“So, what else don’t I know about you?” she said.

“Quite a lot, frankly. Let’s start with the favourite bands. You go first.”

“Fine. I love Pink Floyd quite a lot, Deftones, and Fontaines D.C. lately been in the rotation.”

I kept on nodding like I didn’t know these answers before.

“No Metallica?” I asked.

She wrinkled her nose. “God, no. I grew out of them.”

I crossed it off somewhere mechanically behind my eyes.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Bad memories.”

Right. The period when she used to hang out with that drug addict, Viktor. Wondering how he was doing now. Whether he still regretted losing a girl like that.

“What about you, though? You keep avoiding the questions.” She grinned.

“I love Pink Floyd too. David Bowie is cool as well. In general, I would say I’m a rock geek.”

“What’s your favourite album from Pink Floyd?”

I hoped her answer didn’t change.

“I mean…it has to be the wall.”

“Right!? Easily their best. Okay, what about films?”

“Challengers has to be my favourite.”

“Stop. The whole thing is just such an insane drama. The camera-work. The love- triangle, okay, I’m not going to do this, I’ll sound insane. It’s just so good. It’s–”

“It’s the aesthetic.”

“It’s the aesthetic. Thank you. You understand me so well, Danny.” Her arm slid past mine and locked around my elbow. “I wish I’d met you earlier. We have so much in common.”

“Well,” I hesitated, “we did talk, but barely.”

“I don’t think we did.”

“You just forgot.”

“No, Danny. I’d remember a guy like you. Everything we just–” She gestured between us, “I’d remember that.”

I let out a brief, flat ‘Hm.’

“If we met, then tell me a story of how we did.”

I tilted my head and let a slow, private smile slide across my face,

“Okay, fine.”

My eyes found a corner store that was no wider than a doorway with a tall, severe- looking man behind the counter.

“Fancy an ice cream?”

She gasped and pressed both hands against my chest. “Yes, please,” Margo exclaimed.

I chuckled, “Which one do you want? I always get the blueberry one.”

“No, stop,” a laugh broke through, half-covered with her hand.

“What?”

“Blueberry’s my favourite, too.” She dropped her head on my shoulder, “Have you been stalking me?” She cleared her throat, “Mister Yenny Troyard.”

My jaw tightened. My teeth caught my lower lip and stayed there for a second.

“I’m kidding. Go grab us an ice cream.”

Was she, though?

The man turned out to be nice, not intimidating at all. I grabbed the ice cream and walked back to the bench where Margo was resting.

“Did you miss me?”

She took off her sunglasses, and her face lit up as if the sun had just shared all its energy with her.

“Matter of fact, I did.” She pulled her feet up and peeled the wrap off her ice cream. “So, will you tell me?”

“It was in January, right after the start of the second semester. You’d just come back from Paris. We ended up in the same group, and later in the same group project. Remember now?”

I peeled my own wrap and threw it in the bin alongside hers.

“Thanks,” she hesitated. “No. Not really.”

“Margo, really? How can you not remember? I clearly remember you telling me everything about that concert you went to that weekend. That was the whole reason why you didn’t finish your part.”

“Wait.” She studied my face, like she was trying to lay it over an image behind her eyes. “There was a guy who did the whole project. That was you?”

“Duh,” I chuckled.

“I can’t even.” She shook her head. “I feel terrible, but I genuinely can’t recall it.”

We talked in every single class. I dragged the inside of my cheek between my teeth.

“I’m certain I’m thinking of somebody else, Danny. It wasn’t you. You’re two different people.”

“What do you remember, then?”

She shrugged.

“No, tell me. What was he like?”

She leaned in, her hand gliding across my jaw.

“You’re beautiful. Polite. Smart. Aesthetically coded,” She let out a short laugh and paused. “And what I remember is quite the opposite.”

“Right,” I hit my hand against my forehead, “I forgot. It wasn’t you that I met, it was somebody else who was also French. My bad.”

“Told you! I’d never forget a guy like you.”

I smiled and nodded back. Now you won’t. I dragged my tongue across the ice cream, leaving a crimson trail. I turned sideways, just enough to block the view of the cone.

“Danny, this might sound weird, but–”

“But?”

“Are you free this evening?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you maybe want to come by for dinner?”

“Are you inviting me to your place?”

She nudged me, “Come on, say it louder.”

I grinned.

“I’m afraid I can’t reject this offer.”

“Good.” She dropped her head on my shoulder and slid her fingers into my palm, locking them. I looked down at her glossy face as she licked her ice cream from the top. Being now closer, I noticed the freckles around her nose I’d never seen before. No picture had showcased her beauty as well as this did.

Chapter 7

My phone buzzed, and its screen lit up.

Margo:

“Sorry, baby, we’ll have to cancel our movie night.”

“What happened?” I texted back.

“My father died.”

I stared at the message for a solid ten seconds. My mind went blank, and I started typing instinctively:

Don’t worry, we will reschedule it–

Felt wrong.

Feel sorry for you¬–

No, I deleted it too.

I typed and erased every reply that came to my mind. My face stayed flat, unmoved, no matter how warm I made the words. Stuck in the loop of typing, drafting, and deleting, I just reacted with a sad emoji. Margo almost instantly texted me back.

“Can you come to me, please?”

“Yes.”

I knocked on the heavy wooden door, the only wooden one on the floor. All of Margo’s neighbours had the cheap, plastic doors, and she always told me that her door was more likely to attract robbers than the ones next to it. Maybe she did have a point.

She opened the door and looked entirely ruined. Margo had cried herself into someone I didn't recognise. The delicate skin beneath her eyes was swollen into thick, purple bags. Her eyelids were so raw and puffy that they practically consumed her lashes. A shameful thought inside me questioned whether this was even my Margo. The gulping wouldn’t stop. Her hands started reaching towards me, pulling me into her hug.

I let her.

“It happened so suddenly,” she pulled me hard, and my hand closed the door between us, “Just a week ago, he was okay,” she murmured against my chest.

I placed my hands around her back and shoulders, barely touching her – enough that she wouldn't question it. My lips parted in search of words, but I just swallowed them. It felt as if I were typing a text again, deleting it in real time. She pulled herself away and slid her sleeve past her eyes.

“Sorry, baby, I’m just¬–”

“It’s okay, I just don’t know how I can help.”

“Just be here with me,” her hand slid into mine just like the time we first met.

Somehow, we moved from the doorway to her bedroom. She was still trying to talk, but the words were drowning in her breathless tears. She rested her head on my chest. I didn’t look at her, just found a spot on her wall to stare at. A picture of a lion cub in the wild. The crying started to soften as she settled into a half-hug until the sobbing sounds completely vanished.

“He was the only one who raised me. If not for him, I don’t know who I would have been.”

I nodded. I haven’t seen him that much in her public pictures. She wanted me to meet him. Now I wouldn’t.

“My mom–shit, I can’t even call her a mom. She left us when I just turned three, never seen her since then.”

“I thought I saw your mother before.”

She pulled back, lifting her chin to look at me. I met her eyes, caught for a second.

“When? Where?”

“On the graduation pictures.”

She’d posted them everywhere. Knowing about them shouldn't raise suspicion.

“That’s my aunt. I told you I don’t have a mother.”

“Okay,” I exhaled, “You should rest, now. It’s been a heavy day for you.”

“Will you rest with me?”

I parted my lips to say something comforting. Nothing came, only half-sounds that clicked against my dry throat. I swallowed.

“Yes, I will.”

“Thank you. I love you,” she placed her cheek against my t-shirt. She didn't seem to notice I hadn't answered. My gaze drifted back towards the lion cub.

“Danny, can you pass me my phone? I want to cancel something.”

“What do you want to cancel?”

“My friend, Maya, invited us on a double date with her boyfriend. I don’t think we should go tomorrow.”

“Hm,” I grunted.

“But what do you think, Danny?”

Her look from below pressured me. I had no idea what she wanted to hear. This Margo wasn’t the light-hearted, easy-going person, or even attractive. It was a completely different human being.

“I feel the same way about it as you do.”

“To be honest with you, deep inside I know he would want me to live and go further, but I just feel embarrassed to have this thought.”

So, you do want to go.

“Don’t be, Margo. Then we’re going.”

I looked down at her, placed my hand on her and gave her a kiss on the forehead. She smiled and dipped her chin into my arm, letting the silence stretch. I kept on looking at her chest until her breathing slowed from sharp catches into long, heavy rhythms. I picked up my phone, opened her profile, and typed Maya's name into her followers.

Chapter 8

“Hello, guys. It’s nice to finally meet you,” Maya’s gaze met mine. The same Maya from the lecture hall, five years on. Her haircut hadn’t changed a bit. She definitely didn’t recognise me.

“Hey, Danny, right?” A handshake extended towards me from a tall brunette with a slight stubble on his face.

“Yes, Steph?”

“That’s correct.”

“Come on, guys, let’s take a seat and don’t stand here in front blocking everybody else’s way.”

Classic Margo. Always there to break the mood.

We sat across from each other at the table. The restaurant was an enclosed rooftop that offered a panoramic view of the Parisian rooftops and the Eiffel Tower.

“So, for how long are you staying here, guys?” I asked.

“They don’t know, yet,” Margo cut in.

“Actually,” Maya paused, “I think we do,” she turned to Steph, who was already carefully examining the menu.

“We’re thinking of moving here.”

“Really, and why is that?” I asked.

“It’s a great city, both Maya and I got great job offers, and we think–”

Maya hadn’t changed a bit ¬– hadn’t lost a drop of her youthfulness, maybe even hoarded a little extra. Her big breasts remained her most noticeable feature. Silver jewellery everywhere, one necklace resting exactly where I wanted to look. Her décolletage was the real torture. I kept my gaze fixed on Steph’s mouth while he ranted.

“And essentially that’s why–”

“Uhm,” I nodded back, “I agree, that’s also the reason I went here.”

“And also, he came here to open The Mere Smith,” Margo said in a way she’d announce a prize she’d won. Her chin was up, watching Maya’s face for a reaction.

“Really, you opened The Mere Smith?” Maya’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, do you know them?”

“I’ve heard, but not a huge fan,” she paused and gave me a little polite smile, “No offence.”

“No offence taken. I have recently thought of completely selling it.”

Margo’s head snapped towards me. “You never told me that. Why? Isn’t the business booming?”

I picked up a glass of water, raised it and circled it around.

“Okay, maybe not selling it but changing the direction. The motive behind it. I want to take Mere Smith fully cruelty-free. No more leather goods.”

Margo paused and stared into her empty plate.

“This is where the industry has to go,” I said.

Maya looked up, flipped the phone, and placed it on the table. My peripheral vision showed me Margo wasn’t trying to nod along; her gaze just dropped heavily onto my mouth and back to my eyes, just sat there.

“That’s a very good motive, Danny,” Steph raised his glass. While Maya kept on looking at me, the light curiosity had shifted to admiration in her eyes. She’d gone still for a bit. Her lips lightly parted. I knew she was going to like it. Her feed showed me that she loved animals; it was a huge part of her personality. Sacrificing a couple of leather goods won’t hurt the Mere Smith that much. Not like I really cared about it anymore.

“Margo, I never asked, how did you and Danny meet, by the way?”

Margo turned to me. Her face had gone flat. Not grief-flat, or angry-flat. Exhausted.

“You want to talk about it, Danny?”

“I like the way you describe it,” I grabbed her hand beneath the table, but she quickly let it slip away.

“Danny was recommended to me by one of my friends, and I thought I was going for a job interview, but apparently, I was going on my first date.” She told it without moving her hands. The same hands that never used to stop.

“You’re missing out on the important part. All of us used to study together.” I said.

“Really? Wait, did you know Margo?”

She shook her head sideways. Does she really have to make everything about herself once again? Everybody knows your dad died. There was no reason to make it a main event.

“Me too,” Maya said, “But I approve of you guys.”

“And how did you meet?” I asked, looking straight at Maya.

“Well, to be frank, our story is not so romantic. We just met on the dating app,” Steph replied.

“If you present it like that, Steph, then yeah, it’s not romantic,” she chuckled, and he did too.

Everyone did, except Margo, who hid her face behind the menu.

“Are you alright?” I whispered in her ear. She nodded very briefly. “Can we go talk for a second?” I said.

She dropped the menu and looked at me.

“Excuse us, guys, a small family briefing,” I gave a practised smile that almost reached my eyes.

We walked with Margo outside.

“Margo, what’s happening?”

“No, Danny, tell me what’s happening with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re changing our main policy at a company that I’m a huge part of, and I don’t even have the slightest idea about it?”

“Well, I’d been meaning to tell you about it,” my hand ran through my hair. I’d been expecting this conversation, but I expected her to sound more…defeated?

“You do know that leather goods take 40% of our sponsors,” She exhaled. “I hate when you act like this, as you do now.”

“How?”

“The same way you acted on our first date.”

“Can you stop talking in riddles?”

She huffed at me and rolled her eyes.

“My gosh, Danny, don’t act stupid. You’re trying to impress everybody there. I don’t know if it’s your male ego that’s competing with Steph, and you want to show what a cool boyfriend you are, but it’s really annoying.”

“Margo,” I took her hand, “It has been a stressful week for you, baby. And it’s been a lot of news–”

She retracted her hand from me.

“I don’t want all of this right now. Not you. Not anybody. I’m going home,” She started walking away, but paused, “My door will be open for you until midnight.” Margo didn’t look at me and disappeared around the corner.

I returned to the rooftop.

“Guys, I strongly apologise for the delay. Margo felt a bit ill.”

“Oh gosh, is it about her dad?”

My jaw locked, and I forced my eyebrows into the lowered, empathetic shape, lower lip pushed slightly forward.

“Yeah.”

“No problem,” Steph got up, “We can do it next time.”

“Yeah, no problem, Danny,” Maya got up too.

“Sorry, guys, sometimes you can’t predict what’s going to happen.”

Steph just briefly nodded and slid past me. Maya walked past me a pace slower and tapped my shoulder lightly, “Go help her, Danny. She needs you.”

Chapter 9

Margo was asleep. The door had been open, like she said it would be. She half-curled her body under the two layers of her blanket. The bed looked like a complete mess, with the open bags of chips and crumpled napkins. She had those bruised purple eye bags again. I turned away. I didn't want her face.

I opened my phone and went straightaway to Margo’s Instagram profile and looked up Maya once again. I texted her.

“hey, just got home, margo is feeling better, i think. sorry again for such a sharp cancellation.”

A couple of minutes later, a reply followed.

“Danny, no problem. Just make sure to take good care of her now. It was very nice meeting you btw. What’re you guys doing now?”

I stared at her text; the light of my phone filled our bedroom.

“she’s asleep. gave her something to help her sleep, so heading to bed soon. you guys?”

I’d barely set the phone down when the reply came.

“Steph is asleep too. She’s been going through a tough time with her dad’s loss. Really don’t know how we could make it easier for her.”

“me too. idk, might take her to her aunt this weekend.”

“Good.”

Nothing for five minutes. I set the phone down and turned my back to Margo, close enough to share a bed, far enough not to touch her. My phone chirped again, and a sudden glow caught me before my eyes fully shut.

“I think cruelty free is the right direction. You perhaps know that already, tho, lol.”

“appreciate that. def a leap into the unknown.”

“If you ever need help w anything, lmk.”

“honestly? kind of do. figuring it out alone is a mess lol”

“I'd genuinely love to help. It's such a good cause”

“if you’re free tomorrow, maybe we could meet and discuss some things. i honestly have so many questions, but it's midnight, so my brain's fried.”

“Lol, understandable. Sure, I’m free tomorrow at 12:00. Does that work?”

I stared at her message for some time. I licked my lips to remove all the dryness from them. It was a simple yes or no question that still made my chest tighten. She made the offer, not me. Right? I wiped my palms against our bedsheets and replied.

“yes, it does.”

Chapter 10

We were at the small breakfast place that was just a couple of metro stops away from Margo’s apartment.

“Really good choice, Danny. I like it.”

“It’s nice. Sometimes when I want to rest from the office, I come here. Makes me feel like I’m still a student.”

She laughed and nodded back.

Inside, it was pretty warm. The heat mostly came from the kitchen, but also from the number of people here. Waiters rushed from table to table, keeping their smiles intact. It was cosy, somehow, for both of us. She immediately took off her leather jacket as we entered, and just stayed in a black top. My eyes kept resisting the pull below her neck.

“How’s Margo doing?” Her smile was easy. The opposite of whatever Margo's face had become.

“She’s great, she was still sleepy when I left. Made her breakfast and rushed here.”

A lie. I’d left before she opened her eyes.

“Did you eat anything?”

“No, no, otherwise I would be late.”

She raised her hand and leaned closer to me, “Then let’s order something.”

Maya was tactile and expressive. She literally talked with her hands. Touching my arm, the table, her hair, her collarbone. I’d already forgotten how much I liked it. It didn’t surprise me that it was Maya who reached out to Margo to meet up after such a long time.

“I’ve never asked, but what inspired you to open The Mere Smith in the first place? I would never expect somebody like you to be so into fashion.”

I grinned.

“You know, sometimes we have this one music artist that we really like, but we’re embarrassed to admit it to everybody else. That was fashion, for me.”

“That’s certainly a way to put it,” she chuckled, slightly raising her hand, making sure the laugh didn’t fill the whole booth. Margo’s loud laugh, with a snort to it, didn’t stand a chance.

She kept on looking at me, waiting for me to ask more questions, while playing with her hair and pulling it back from her face. I reached towards my bag for the notebook.

“So just to warn you, I have a lot of questions.”

She chuckled, “Love a businessman who’s organised.”

I grinned.

Between us, my phone lit up on the table, buzzing and dancing across the surface. I lifted it up. It was a call from Margo. Before that, she sent two video messages and a text:

Danny, I need your help now. Please, answer.

My eyes never left Maya as I rejected the call and slid the phone into my pocket.

“Sorry. Some work stuff. You were saying?”

Maya held the stare longer than before. She licked her lips.