He drinks his coffee tentatively, glancing at me every few seconds, watching me. Every time he glances in my direction, I quickly turn away though he obviously knows I'm watching him. I know he's wondering why I'm staring at him, but he doesn't ask.
I finally take a sip of coffee, set the mug back on the table, and voice what's on my mind, "I want to draw you.

Night has settled over Paris.
The streets have cleared of the crowds, and the city has been lit up. I set my book down, deciding to go for a walk. The Eiffel Tower is only a few blocks away. Now that there aren't many people out, I can walk there without having to fight my way through mobs of gawking tourists.

I freeze, my feet suddenly glued to the floor. It takes me a minute to gather the courage to turn around, but when I do, I immediately wish I hadn't. The boy is standing in the doorway at the end of the hall.
Why is he here again? I barely allow myself time to ask the question before I move. Panicked, I turn and run back downstairs as fast as I can.
"Hey! Wait!" he calls after me.
I don't stop.

Every gesture and every look he gives me takes me by surprise and causes my heart to stutter.

I'm being pulled under - father and farther from the surface. My lungs continue to scream for air. Panic is building inside me, threatening to combust. I can't break free.
Help! I can't break free!
I open my mouth to scream.

He smirks, shaking his head and letting his eyes wander. I watch him carefully, wondering what I can say to get him to leave. “I’m not leaving until you answer some questions. Plus, I’m holding your sketchbook hostage, so you might want to cooperate.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. I guess there isn’t much I can say. “This isn’t a hostage negotiation.”

He chuckles half-heartedly as his eyes take me in, almost sizing me up. “I guess I should introduce myself.” He holds a hand out for me to shake. “I’m Nathan.”

I stare at his hand for a moment. “Taylor,” I reply, meeting his eyes again without taking his hand.

He lets his hand fall back to his side. “At least I got you to say something non-hostile.”

“I haven’t been hostile,” I object.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, haven’t you?”

“Why don’t you leave me alone?” I snap. “Leave and don’t come back.” I move passed him, heading for my apartment. He can’t follow and annoy me if I lock the door.

“Where are you going?” he demands. I look back over my shoulder and roll my eyes at him, indicating the answer should be obvious: anywhere he isn’t. Once inside, I slam the door behind me.

“That was totally not hostile!” he calls after me, sarcastically. I quickly head for my bedroom door, slamming it, too.