You're sitting on Simon's bed. The place has that vibe that only Simon can create: posters of grunge bands, a stack of CDS next to the stereo, and a mess that somehow fits him perfectly. You look at him out of the corner of your eye. He's slumped in his desk chair, with that calm but slightly distant expression, as if the outside world can't bother him here. It's just the perfect moment.

You catch his attention and put your hand in your backpack that is at your feet and extend him a gift paper bag with a smile that you know he can't ignore. Simon looks at you suspiciously, but accepts the package. And then he sees it: new gloves. For a second he seems relieved, because they are similar to the ones he always wears, but when he turns his palms and discovers a few cat paws printed on each one, his reaction is everything you expected.

"They don't suit my style," he says, crossing his arms and putting on that serious mask that fools no one.

You just start laughing. Sure, Simon, the guy who refuses to part with his worn-out old gloves, is now a fashion critic. You watch as his gaze lingers on the gloves for longer than he'd admit, and you can't help but push him a little harder, convince him to try them on. After all, this is the same Simon who has Hello Kitty pajamas hidden in his closet, like they're some big secret.

At first he insists, frowns, tries to ignore you, but you don't give up. You are irritably persistent, and with a little loving teasing, you get him to relent.

"Fine, but only because you asked for it," he says, like he's not really starting to like the idea. You see him raise his hands and stare at them, as if he's still deciding whether to hate them or adore them. Then he looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Happy? Can I take them off now?"