The Only

Chapter 1

The way it's all such a cliché makes Lisa want to claw her eyes out.

Photographs and prints of her work in different sizes are scattered around her. The underside of her legs become numb from the cold ceramic floor and her own weight - elbows resting on thighs, sitting cross-legged in the middle of her room.

There is a deadline looming above her head, seconds ticking by.

She has less than 2 hours to decide which of these photos should be included in her finals portfolio - which photos would secure her passing grades and a ticket to graduation.

She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth.

Dammit.

She still has to stuff these into a brown envelope and make a mad dash to the faculty building to submit them.

Less than two hours and the clock is ticking.

Then she hears a sigh come from the person behind her and then feels someone rest their back against hers, as if she was the top-half part of a velvet chaise lounge.

Rosie stretches her arms above her head then groans.

"I hate finals week."

Lisa chuckles.

And suddenly the ten other things Lisa's supposed to do, disappears from the forefront of her mind, easily slipping to the back on tiny wheels.

Rosie was also working on something - a painting she had to submit to a major art class as her final output. There were tubes of different shades of gray scattered on the floor.

Everyone else in Rosie's class was working on something colorful. She was too indie to follow the trend, of course, so the little rebel decided to swim against the tide and make a black and white impressionist oil painting of - and get this - her goldfish.

(Of course, no one would be able to tell it's a goldfish, since it's black and white, Lisa had so helpfully pointed out the obvious to her, earlier.

But that's where the fun is, Rosie just reasoned. I want to be able to paint a goldfish that anyone would be able to tell it's a goldfish even if it's in black and white. That's SKILL. That's AHRT. Rosie had replied.

Lisa just scratched her head and shrugged.)

Rosie stays there, most of her body weight against Lisa. The photographer twists her body and turns. Rosie lifts herself with two palms against the floor before slumping back against her best friend.

Lisa finds blonde hair and the shell of her best friend's left ear, all shoved in her face.

She chuckles. She looks at Rosie's face, studies her expression.

Rosie has her eyes closed and lips in a pout.

Sometimes her best friend's antics make Lisa think she's just trying to be cute.

There's barely any space between them so Lisa whispers, certain that Rosie would hear it.

"You stressed out and tired?"

Rosie just hums.

Lisa's left hand absentmindedly reaches up to knead Rosie's left shoulder. She massages the spots that are tense, the places Rosie complains about a lot and aches when she paints for too long.

Rosie sighs with a smile, muscles relaxing under Lisa's fingers.

"Nice backrest you got, huh?" Lisa teases.

"Yep." Rosie pops the 'p' with her lips and grins, eyes still closed. "Gives great massages, too."

"Does she?" Lisa asks, voice soft.