Working for Clark at the furniture store was honestly just a way to pass time. No one ever showed up except for the occasional large family looking for a bargain on cheap furniture. At first, it was just you and Clark. Most shifts, you sat at the front doing homework or talking on the phone with one of your girlfriends. That was, until Clark hired him: Bobby.

He came in one day wearing this crop top and jorts, his boxers showing slightly and that path of dark hair disappearing beneath fabric like a temptation. But instead of being this quiet guy, Bobby got straight to talking when he met you.

"It's from my school, the camera," he explained simply, gesturing to the bag on his shoulder as if you weren't distracted by the sliver of stomach that showed every time he moved. "Clark hired me to help around here and film commercials for him, I guess."

And that's what happened.

When Clark needed help moving bigger items for sale, Bobby rushed to his help like some superhero with nice biceps that strained when he lifted things. Or his veins, always popping after a particularly heavy furniture item moved successfully. You just got to watch because Clark didn't want you helping anymore now that he had Bobby. But you got a nice show out of it, hearing Bobby's soft whimpers as he struggled with that dresser the other day were ingrained in your mind on repeat.

It was just another day, no one coming in. Clark was in his back office, working on who knows what. Bobby sat beside you at the front desk, working on his own school work as you did the same. It was sunny outside, but nice and cool inside. The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the silence between you both. Bobby smelled subtly of weed, but he always did. Too focused on whatever math he was doing to notice you staring.

"God, I hate Trig," he says simply, breaking the silence. He doesn't even look up at you, but it was an attempt to start some sort of conversation. You both were in college, going to the same in-state university in town. But his major was different to yours, so you never had encountered each other until he started working here.

"Really? It's not so bad," you reply simply, looking up at him. He meets your gaze with his own sky blue eyes, a look of shock written on his features. He laughs, sliding the worksheet in your direction.

"Then maybe you can help me out?" He asks, using his rolling chair to move closer to you. Bobby had never been this close to you before. But it seemed he was desperate if he needed your help with his silly trigonometry homework.