It takes Lisa fifteen minutes of mad sprinting to get to the faculty room. There was a minute left before the deadline.

Rosie had so helpfully picked out her most portfolio-worthy photos - choosing three black and white portraits of herself and a few scenic wide shots during the golden hour of places in the campus and the city.

“These are so nice, Lisa.” Rosie whispers, eyes in happy crescents, smile small, and a slight dusting of blush covering her cheeks. She held a print of herself, laughing behind a hand.

Lisa watched her with the same happiness mirrored in her eyes.

“You capture me so well.” Rosie looks up at her, holding the photo up beside her face. 

Lisa laughs, then nods.

“Well, thank you.”

Rosie holds the photo down and takes another look at it, running her fingertips across the glossy surface quickly before setting it down to pick up another photo of herself, this time looking directly at the camera, a fork to her lips.

“This is nice, too.” The artist whispers. “But I don’t think this is portfolio-worthy. We should include your landscapes instead of this one.” She sets the photo aside, on the “rejected” pile.

“You look pretty there, though.” Lisa quickly disagrees. Rosie just shrugs, already too busy examining the landscapes and having forgotten about the photo they talked about last. Lisa hums. “But I’ll go with whatever photo set you choose, though, since I clearly can’t decide for these myself.”

Rosie chuckles.

“You’ll fail to meet the deadline if you were the one deciding.” Rosie slips the landscape she was holding into a brown envelope, picking it as portfolio-worthy. “Besides, you already have too many portraits of me. It’s better to have more variety with your subjects, show your professor how versatile you are!” Rosie smiles at her.

Lisa nods, not fully accepting Rosie’s logic.

“But you’re my favorite subject.” The photographer says it with all honesty and courage.

Rosie just smiles wider.

“No,” Rosie brushes the compliment off. “I’m your only subject because we spend so much time together.”

Lisa just laughs.

“No, you’re really pretty that’s why you’re my favorite!” She holds her hands out, trying to convince her best friend.

Rosie shakes her head.

“Sure.” The artist says in a sarcastic tone, still refusing to accept compliments or to believe them.

“Whatever.” Lisa rolls her eyes, tired of her best friend’s stubbornness and inability to take praise when it comes to her looks.

Rosie finished slipping the last photo into the brown envelope. Lisa runs to grab her favorite baggy jeans and practically jumps into them. The blond hands Lisa the portfolio just as she finishes lacing her shoes up. Lisa all but zooms past her like the Roadrunner leaving Willie Coyote in the dust.

"Good luck!" Rosie screams after her.

Lisa nearly crashed into her photography teacher as he exited the faculty room, intending to head out. But the photographer pulled the brakes on her own feet right on time and managed to keep balance despite flailing around for a while.

The professor accepted the portfolio with a raised eyebrow, and for a second Lisa felt her heart drop. She waited for a rejection but then the old man broke out into a smile as she breathed out the biggest sigh of relief. He laughed and told her, “got you worried for a second didn’t I, Ms. Buzzer-beater?”

Lisa nodded and then he told her not to worry, excused himself and walked to the opposite direction.

The photographer turned around and started walking back to her shared dorm with her best friend.

Who she likes to take photos of.

Who was her favorite subject.

Who she had a crush on.

How ing cliché.

But this was Lisa’s lot for now and she had to make do.

Rosie was also trying to meet a deadline of her own, working like a woman possessed, stuck in her own world and completely absorbed in what she was doing. So it was no wonder that she didn’t even realize that Lisa entered their room with bags of food and drinks.

Lisa watched Rosie quietly, a smile on her face.

Her best friend’s mind was on one track and it was impossible for her to feel the weight of Lisa's stare.

It would probably take ages before Rosie realized that Lisa had returned and was there, in their room with her.

Lisa's eyes follow the way Rosie smears paint on a canvas carelessly, watches her dip her paintbrush in white and then gray and mix. Every little detail felt amplified; the way the the thick acrylic coats each bristle sticky, the way the arm that holds the palette flexes as the artist tries to achieve that perfect blend.

She watches the way her blonde locks were haphazardly tied into a messy bun on the top of her head, admiring the way it exposes her long slender neck, tracing the angles of her exposed shoulders from her loose, worn out tank top, finding the dips and shadows of her shoulder blades.

A single droplet of sweat rolls down from the side of her face to her jaw, to her neck, and settles in the hollow of and Lisa gulps.

The photographer clutches the bag of food in her hand tighter and shifts a little - the movement making the plastic bag rustle and the sound causing Rosie to jump and look up from her work.

“Oh my gosh, you scared me!” Rosie holds a hand to her chest. Her eyes travel down to the bags in Lisa’s hands. “And oh my gosh, you brought food!”

Lisa beams, holds up the bags in her hand.

“Doughnuts and iced pomegranate fruit tea from your favorite café.” Rosie claps her hands excitedly. Lisa steps into the room further, setting the bags down beside her best friend. “A little afternoon pick-me-up for the busy artist.”

Rosie pops up on her feet quickly and throws her hands around her best friend. She squeals as she buries her face into Lisa’s neck.

“These are perfect!” In her excitement, the artist presses a quick peck against Lisa’s cheek.

The photographer feels her ears and cheeks burn red, as her heart flutters, tripping over itself and out of its own rhythm in surprise.

“Thank you!” Rosie leans back, but doesn’t let go.

Lisa just smiles over all the feelings rumbling in her chest, hyper aware of their proximity.

Rosie was too close and too happy and too pretty.

Lisa’s heart was doing backflips and forward flips, going crazy.

Rosie’s eyebrows knit together in worry.

“But isn’t the café a little out of the way from the faculty room?” She asks.

Lisa steps back from the embrace herself, for the sake of her own sanity. She calms her racing heart down as she answers.

“Well, yeah.” She rubs the back of her neck shyly. “But it was still a quick walk and I wanted to thank you for helping.”

Rosie beams at her and her smile was so beautiful that Lisa thinks of how she’d walk the distance of the café and their dorm room a million times over if it meant making her best friend smile.

“I was happy to help. You didn’t have to go through the trouble of getting me food.” Rosie clasps her hands together in front of her, rests her chin on top of them and stares at Lisa through her lashes cutely.

Lisa tries her best not to faint.

“But you really know me too well. I was feeling a little bummed at how long it’s taking me to finish this painting and you were perfectly on time with the food. Thank you, again.” The way Rosie says it conveys how heartfelt her gratitude was. But Rosie also takes Lisa’s hand and gives it a squeeze for good measure, making sure her best friend understands how appreciated this gesture was. Then she sits back down and picks her brush up to continue painting.

But the artist uses her free hand to open the box of doughnuts, take one, and lift it up to for a bite.

Lisa chuckles, sitting down and getting her own iced tea and doughnut, too.

“Well, you’re welcome, Rosie.” She says around a mouthful. “It was my pleasure.”

Rosie gives her a smile, then dips her paintbrush in blue once more. She twirls the brush around, coating the bristles in paint fully, before ever so carefully touching it against the canvas.

Lisa goes back to watching her work, back to admiring her and the little details that make her up.

Lisa doesn’t make it a habit to creep at other people like this - she doesn’t watch other people this closely or stare at them obsessively.

But right now she can’t help it.

Because as cliché as it may be, she has the biggest crush on her best friend-slash-roommate Roseanne Park.

And it ing .

Not just because Lisa hated clichés.

Lisa could deal with that level of cliché. It’s not like she had a choice in the matter, anyway.

No.

It because Rosie is straight.