For the past few weeks, you had been seeing Oscar more often, and you were writing and talking to each other more. You were walking together through the park, discussing everything and nothing.

"We can get ice cream," you suggested. "Do I look like the kind of guy who goes on ice cream dates?" he rolled his eyes. "No," you sighed. "I guess you don't."
You walked in silence for a few seconds.
"What flavor are you getting?" He looked at you and thought ‚I’m fucked’*