I never thought that my worst distraction from everything I had already planned out would come in the form of a man.

"What is this?"

I grabbed the flower from his hand and looked at it with irritation. I don’t need these sweet romantic gifts while I work as a student librarian at our university. I have hours to fill and work onto because being a scholar means I have to render about 300 hours this school year. A big punishment but I would rather choose this than pay off my tuition with my non-existent money.

"A flower?" He answered with the smirk he carry most of the time.

"You know what? Just go home. Pet your dog or do the laundry. Whatever you could do to satisfy your boredom," I replied while fixing the messy stacks of books students left during lunchtime.

"Not happening, Ivianne. Pissing you off is my idea of excitement," I hate him especially when he mentions my second name.

"Bringing me a flower is your idea of pissing me off?" I questioned him. He is weird. The weirdest person I have ever encountered on this planet.

Vion Apollo is the guy who keeps his nose out of everyone's business but shoves his face, time, and efforts on mine. Also, the most mind-wrecking person there is as he messes with my head with the thought of whether he likes me or just sees me as a source of thrill.

“You despise distraction therefore I am offering myself as your distraction.”

I laughed at his assumption.

“So you think I am distracted by your silly little attempts?”

“The fact that you are so worked up right now is evidence that you are.”

I couldn’t think of a statement because his statement implies the truth. The truth that I want to bury down the endless pieces of trashes and burn it at the ends of the earth.

Afternoon library visits turned into McDonald night take-outs in which he parks his car in a hidden spot where no one can see us and takes large bites on his burger that stains his lips.

“A messy eater, indeed,” I teased while holding up a laugh I would never ever let him hear to feed his satisfaction.

“When you’re eating the world’s most delicious hamburger, there is no way you could stay sane and proper,” He replied while munching his beloved food without taking his eyes off of it.

“You’re just dirty.”

“How dare you?”

His dramatic expression burst the laugh I was keeping just for myself. Vion eventually couldn’t take it anymore and laugh with me as well.

Funny how irritation transformed into curiosity when he still hasn’t visited me in the library before the sun sets, how late-night drives with his awful taste of music prevent me from sleeping at night, and how one piece of rose he leaves on my library desk turned into a bouquet.

“Dumb conversations

We lose track of time.”

My eyes widened when he started singing with the music while driving. I never thought his voice would sound as if the angels came down to witness his enchanting musical performance.

“Have I told you lately

I'm grateful you're mine” Vion sang as he slowly looked at me for a while.

A smile was painted on his lips as he reached for my hand and intertwined it with his. I couldn’t stop thinking about how he softly brushed his thumb on my skin. How can a certain hand give me this surreal feeling of comfort and home?

“We'll watch The Notebook

For the 17th time

I'll say “It's stupid”

Then you'll catch me crying”

Laughter released itself from my mouth all of the sudden. My mind would never ever forget how he cried for uncountable times of watching that masterpiece. I would never stop teasing him about it until my last breath

“We're not making out

On a boat in the rain

Or in a house I've painted blue

But there's nothing

Like doing nothing

With you”

At the end of the song, my senses came alert as he moved my hand to his lips to give it a gentle kiss. Realization hits me with its soft touch on my skin.

I hate him so much. I loathe him for making me feel this way when at the end of the day, he would leave no trace of himself and never come back.

Anger flows in my system as every little thing we did enters my brain as remembrances come into my view. Tears well on my eyes as I bury my face in the book that I am supposedly reading. How can he leave when he promised to be my living distraction?

To leave the past behind is to erase a significant part of you that makes up your wholeness. I don’t what to but I should. It is because I couldn’t keep living with wary and anger as I approach the familiar McDonald branch in town or cry whenever Nothing by Bruno Major comes to play on the radio. The little things should not bother me anymore now that he is gone.