I sat in front of my laptop, tapping my pen against my teeth. The little vibrations didn’t do anything to help me figure out what I was going to write next. Vibrations didn’t help writer’s block.

The little clicks did something else, though; they irritated Kisten. He kept shifting on my couch, little aggravated sighs breaking the relative silence. I had to admit, it was a little satisfying being the one to annoy him for once. It had been two weeks since we started our little deal, and I could have sworn his mission was to make my life hell. There wasn’t a day he came over that I didn’t, at some point, want to kick him out.

I found myself glancing over at him, clicking the pen against my teeth again. He made a face, and I had to smile. As much as he annoyed me, there were times when I enjoyed having them there. Times when, late at night, he would make me coffee and just sit quietly when I was frustrated with how my story was going. And I loved the kid when he would listen to me go on and on about the plot and characters, and he would just sit there with this star struck expression like I was freaking Daniel Radcliffe.

“Would you knock that off?!”

I’d finally made him snap. A small victorious smile quirked my lips as I turned my chair to face him. “Sorry, is this annoying you?” I did it again, a couple of rapid clicks.

“You’re a brat,” Kisten sniffed, crossing his arms over my chest.

My laughter filled the air. He actually looked startled, reminding me I very rarely smiled or laughed when there were people nearby. It made me vulnerable, and I didn’t like to be vulnerable. Especially not near people like Kisten.

“I am not a brat. I’m an author with writer’s block. We do stupid things,” I said, wheeling my chair halfway across the room by pushing off from the desk. His green eyes followed me as I wheeled further backwards, until I could open the door. I heard him muttering as he got up, trailing me as I wheeled my desk chair all the way out to the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Kisten sighed, leaning against my fridge.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m making coffee if that’s okay with you, your highness.”

Kisten’s mouth twitched, the beginnings of a smile he was trying to squelch- I knew that expression well from so much time spent with him. “Your highness? You’re making me your king now? Oh, you haven’t learned anything if you’re going to trust me with that much power.”

Kisten leaned close to me, a wicked smile on his lips. Too close. I sent my chair wheeling across the tile, away from the dark haired beast and his smiling lips. No way. No way in a million years. That had become such a common thought it almost scared me.

The high schooler sighed and turned away from me. He knew my kitchen well, and he moved with the ease of practice as he took down the box of my favorite K cups and popped one in the brewer, pushing my favorite mug into the empty spot before pressing the button to start the machine.

My eyes were still narrow. “You need to stop spending so much time in my apartment.”

“Sure, sure.” Kisten waved his hand in the air, his airy tone telling me he hadn’t actually listened. “So, tell me. What are you stuck on?”

I curled my legs up, wrapping my arms around them, glaring at him over the protective wall. “I don’t see why I should tell you,” I snapped.

“Your nose is cute when it wrinkles like that.” Kisten’s smirk told me I was making a face. Again. He always teased me when I did that. Apparently, my nose wrinkled when I was frustrated, and it got worse when I was embarrassed; at least, that’s what Kisten told me, although I would vehemently deny it for the rest of my life.

“Shut up,” I grumbled, turning my face down against my knees. His laughter tickled my ears, and I hated that it was a pleasant sound. That jerk was almost too perfect- the most ridiculous high school stereotype I’d had the displeasure of being forced to spend hours with.

“You’ll tell me if you know what’s good for you,” Kisten said. “After all, I have your coffee.”

I looked up quickly. He was right. He stood right in front of the coffee maker, my mug in his hand. I wasn’t up to putting my hands on him to shove him away. No way in a million years. It was either tell him, or risk Elizabeth’s fury to call her to pick up something from Starbucks.

Unfortunately, the answer was obvious.

I sighed, and uncurled from my chair. “It’s this scene I have to write. Rose, the future girlfriend, is trying to show Rowen a good time. And you know Rowen- he’s not particularly into it. So her grand idea, is to take her werewolf trick or treating. We thought it would be cute and ironic.”

“And what’s so hard about it?” Kisten handed me my mug, and I held it protectively close to me while he sat down. He grabbed one of the kitchen chairs, straddling it backwards so he could rest his arms against the back and lean his chin on top of them as he watched me.

I shifted in my chair, trying to avoid the question. My gaze drifted, hoping he’d give up- but every time I looked back at him, he was waiting expectantly, almost eagerly, for my answer.

“Well it’s… you know… the trick or treating,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly.

“What about it? I mean, that’s pretty cut and dry, isn’t it? Just think of when you used to go trick or treating. Write what you know and all that, right?” Kisten was smiling like he’d solved all my problems.

And my face was turning red. “I… uh, I haven’t- that is, um-”

“Hold the phone.” Kisten held a hand up to stop any more of my stammering. “You are not about to tell me you’re never been trick or treating!”

He sounded so appalled, like I’d missed out on one of the great childhood experiences. “Uh… that’s pretty much what I was going to say. I’ve never been to Disneyland, either.” I was trying to joke, but my voice just came out weak and shaky.

Kisten stood up so fast the chair fell over, clattering against the tile. “Oh no. That’s not going to work. I simply can not continue on with my life knowing you have never been trick or treating. The free candy. The sexy, skimpy costumes. How can you have missed out on that?”

“Ah…” I stared up at him, wide eyed, surprised by his excitement over a pagan holiday that had been turned into a watered down consumerist holiday that was really just an excuse to compete to see who could wear the sluttiest costume.

It wasn’t exactly my idea of fun, running around with drunk high school students to get candy that could have been tampered with. Besides, one of those nasty kids with all their skin showing could have touched me. I shuddered just thinking about being stuck in one of those lines, waiting twenty minutes for a tiny piece of candy that I could just buy a bag of from the store.

“No, no, no. You obviously don’t understand. Halloween is the holiday!” Kisten exclaimed, flinging his hands out like almost knocking over my coffee maker would make his point.

I frowned at him. Halloween was a holiday, sure, but I just didn’t understand why he was getting so excited over it. And he looked vaguely frustrated that I wasn’t getting it.

“Alright, I guess I’m going to have to show you, then. You can justify it. Say it’s research. Whatever. But we’re going trick or treating!”

“It’s the end of August, Kisten. Halloween is in October.” I said it gently. He was obviously too thick to understand what a calendar was.

Kisten scoffed at me. “I know what the date is, genius.”

“Hey-”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it handled.” Kisten said it so confidently that I had to believe it. Either that, or he was going to smack me upside the head with it until I did. That was what the kid did.

“Just be ready on Saturday. And have Elizabeth get you a costume.”

“W-wha-” I stared at his retreating back. Rolling my chair after him, I watched him put his shoes back on.

He stopped as he was walking back out the door, shooting that stupid charming smile over his shoulder at me. “See you Saturday, Rapunzel.”

If he hadn’t already closed the door, I would have slammed it in his face.