A/N: And here's another one-shot from the worst author of one-shots. Please, let me redeem myself. I know my second one-shot was sucky and horrible and so random it didn't even have a decent plotline. And it was about Iggy. I'm so sorry.

It hurts to think that teenaged girls my age think all guys are in love with older women. That is so wrong. In fact, the statement doesn't even apply to every teenaged boy. Well, there are some guys who like older women because they are mature and know a lot about sex. I should shut up now before my argument loses all of its persuasion powers.

I like girls my age. I feel like younger girls are just too young to even understand me. And older women just feel like they're mothers. I once dated one; it felt like I was having an incestuous relationship with my mother. That traumatized me so much that I don't even stare at my mother for more than three seconds.

So no older/younger women for me. I look at age, even if the woman looked old or young for her age. I don't care what you say about age. Age is not merely a number for me. I'm sorry but that's my preference.

I'm eighteen. I'm practically a man even though some people (i.e. my mother) think I'm still a child. Whatever. I have a driver's license and I can vote. That's man enough. At least for me.

And I'm single. So horribly single. Then again, that's what you get for having high and specific preferences.

Honestly, when I first saw her, I immediately thought of a sparrow. They're everywhere, right? You'll automatically recognize one once you see them. She has the common dirty-blond hair most American girls have and the common warm brown eyes. There really isn't anything outstanding.

So when I first saw her cleaning tables on the nearby bistro, I took one glance and walked away. But there was something about her that I went back the next day to see her doing the exact same thing: cleaning tables. I just had to do a double-take.

What I saw was clarity. Simplicity. I suddenly had the feeling that this girl was satisfied with whatever she was doing. That scared me; that this girl and her common looks could be so content with the world.

I just had to know her. And I did just that.

The first time she was aware of me was the during the fifth day I saw her. Now, I'm not a creep; I always pass by the bistro on my way to the community college which was just a few blocks away. (I'm secretly taking classes at night.)

I took a quick glance at the bistro (really, at her) and just walked by, as if the bistro was just a wall. As I passed by, I felt her looking at me, staring hard at my back. I shivered, despite the seventy-degree weather that afternoon.

After my class, I was scared-slash-excited to go home because I knew I would see her again. As I rounded the corner to the bistro, I saw her. She was holding a broom and stood in front of the door. As if she was waiting for someone.

Because of the roaring adrenaline suddenly pumping loudly in my veins, I decided to talk to her. As I neared the bistro, I took a peek at myself in the nearest window to see if I looked presentable. Then I realized that wasn't me, I shook my head and opened the door of the bistro, despite the sign that said it was closed.

Bells rang overhead and she was startled when I entered the bistro. It smelled like warm bread and lemons. I surveyed the bistro, still ignoring her standing just a few feet in front of me. Thank goodness for my I-don't-have-emotions-in-my-face facade I always have on.

Finally she cleared her throat and I was forced to look at her. Really, she looked... normal. I don't know why I was interested.

"This restaurant is closed." Her voice, husky and sensual, was melting my ears. Voices like that don't belong to girls with her looks. Voices like hers belong to exotic women oozing with sensuality. With her skinny dress pants and white button-down shirt with the sleeves folded up to her elbows, she wasn't exactly the epitome of sensuality.

I nodded and kept my face blank. "I can see that." I took a chair and faced it towards her. I sat on it with the back of the chair to my front and dangled my arms over it.

She took a deep breath, released it, sat down on a table and faced me, still holding the broom between her legs. "Unless you're here to help me clean up the place, I suggest you leave now because there's no food and every leftover has been eaten by me." She tilted her head and leaned her chin on top of the broom.

I mimicked her pose and stared back. "Do I get something if I help you clean?"

I saw something twinkle on her brown eyes. Now that I was closer, I saw that they were light brown with a gold-ish tint. "You'll receive a sense of compassion for helping a poor college girl at her time of need."

Oh, ho. Was she flirting?

I flashed her one of my teasing smirks, my first of the evening. "Now compassion can't really satiate my hunger for pasta, would it?"

She bit down her lower lip (looking once again, it was slightly fuller than her upper lip) and grinned. "You do know how to charm a woman, don't you?"

I shrugged and again, there was that twinkle in her eyes. Really, that twinkle and that grin, she didn't look in the least bit normal. She looked exquisitely precious. "I try now and then."

She chuckled, her laugh bubbling and charming my wits. Shit. That laugh shouldn't belong to her either. This girl was getting even more and more interesting.

She stood up and stretched her arms over her head. She was taller than I thought she would be. I saw a strip of her tan skin and coughed. She looked at me wide-eyed and grinned. Her teeth was white and straight. Natural?

"Well, since the boss left hours ago and left me here to clean, I guess I can give you some of the leftovers. Are you allergic to anything?" She gathered her broom and dustpan and pushed them into a small closet. She turned back to me with her hands on her hips.

I was marveling at how small her waist was and forgot to answer her. Remembering the question, I shook my head. She nodded and told me to follow her to the kitchen.

I followed her, staring not at how sparkly-clean the kitchen was but at the way she walked. She kept her hands behind her and fiddled with her own fingers. Interesting. Everything about her was interesting.

We reached a fridge that took over an entire wall. I looked at her and pointed at it. "This is the fridge?"

She smirked, a small dimple showed itself at the right corner of her upturned mouth. "Haven't seen such monstrosity? Don't worry. It doesn't eat people."

A FRIDGE THE SIZE OF WALL? Well no shit, I've never seen one.

She grabbed the handle and opened the door. We were automatically glared at by the bluish-white light of the fridge. She took three small steel trays covered with plastic wrap and kicked the door close. I saw only black for a few seconds and my vision turned back to normal.

She was standing in front of me, the trays stacked on her arms. She smirked and jerked her head to the doorway. I followed her again, staring at her back and marveling how she had a perfect posture even while holding those trays.

We went back to the front of the bistro and sat on the seats we used last. She put down the trays on a table and I scooted my chair to the table. I looked up and she handed me a spoon.

"You have to be an angel to be giving me leftovers from this bistro and not charge me," I said.

She shrugged and sat on a chair across from me. "Well, you're company. I guess that's enough compensation."

She ripped a plastic wrap open and dug in. I leaned back and stared at her. I noticed her hair pulled back into a messy bun; noticed her long eyelashes crowning her golden eyes; noticed her high cheekbones and straight nose; noticed the sadness surrounding her like a shell.

She was alone. And lonely. But she was content. That seemed like a contradiction.

I touched her arm and wrapped my hand around her wrist. She put down her spoon and looked back at me. "Is it always like this every night?"

Her pupils widened and she turned her face away. "Some nights it's okay. Some nights I just..."

I ran my fingers on her arm. "Then, is it fine if I come here every night at this time and annoy the hell out of you?"

That night, she gave me her most genuine of smiles.

My heart contracted tighter at the sight of it.

It wasn't after the next night was I given the right to walk her back to her apartment. I had to coax her to believe that I wasn't a sex-crazed, hormonal teenaged guy who preys upon college girls to get laid.

(I'm not. Please don't be afraid of me.)

She finally said fine because I gave her several (lame) excuses why I should walk her home. I think she said yes so I can leave her alone. And maybe because I was embarrassed and she pitied me.

Anyhoo. After eating the leftovers and cleaning the bistro (it became a routine), she locked up the building and we started to walk to the direction of her apartment.

"Do you live alone?" I asked her, keeping as much distance between as possible. Yes, two feet. I also kept my hands inside my front jean pockets.

She shook her head, wisps of her rusty-gold hair escaping her messy bun. "No, I live with my mom and half-sister."

I nodded and continued a slow and even pace. It was almost eleven at night and there were barely any people in the streets. The blinking lightpost on the other side of the street gave the atmosphere an eerie feeling; despite that, it was a cool and serene Wednesday night.

She started chuckling for no apparent reason and I turned my head at her. "What's funny?"

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and turned her eyes up at me. "You have to know what you look like and how it affects people."

I blinked, confused. "I look like my mother, though." My mother was...

She waved her hand. "Hey, I don't know what your mother looks like and that's not what I meant."

I kept my eyes straight ahead. "Then what?"

Out in the corner of my left eye, she continued to stare at me. "You have to know that you're devastatingly handsome."

I smirked. "I don't like that word 'devastatingly'."

I turned my head to look at her. She was looking down at her Chuck Taylors and kicking a rock. "Why?" she asked and kept her head down.

I sighed. "You make it sound like my looks are cursed."

She burst out her contained laughter. "Aren't they?"

I became concerned. "Do you hate the way I look?" My hand came up to hair.

She snorted, very unlady-like of her. "For goodness' sake, I like the way you look. Have you ever met a girl who was immune of your dark, devilish good looks?"

I chuckled low. "So you were laughing because I look good?"

She shook her head and gave me a look that said I was pushing it. I couldn't help it. "I was laughing because you have to be the only I have ever met who didn't care about the way they look."

I cleared my throat because it suddenly tightened. "I'm honored."

She snorted again. "You should be."

Finally, we reached her apartment and I awkwardly waited for her to go inside. But she lingered longer than she's supposed to be and I was ready to run away fast to escape the awkwardness.

I cleared my throat. "Go in."

She scratched her forehead and looked at me. "Want to come inside for coffee?"

I shook my head and smirked. "No, thanks." Did she want me to be an insomniac?

She nodded. "Then, I'll see you tomorrow."

I rose my right hand. "Yeah."

She climbed up the stairs and I started to turn around when she asked, "Just out of curiosity, how old are you?"

I didn't turn around. "Eighteen."

I heard her gasp and smirked. It was my turn to gasp when I felt her hand on the middle of my back. I immediately turned around and took her hand. "You're the same age as me!" She almost yelled.

I scrunched my eyebrows. "Yeah... and?"

She slapped my arm. I muttered a curse. "I thought you were older than me!"

"What part of me looked like I was older than eighteen?" I DON'T HAVE A BEARD. What else could have made me look older?

She blinked many times and stuttered, "Y-you just s-seemed like you're older."

"You mean mature-looking? Unfortunately I matured at the age of five."

She sighed and started walking back to her apartment.

"Wait!" I jogged to her and took hold of her hand.

She turned around and looked at me. I was surprised to see a faint pink tint on her cheeks. WHAT?

"What was that?"

She shook her head slightly and tried to pull back her hand. I tightened my hold slightly. "Nothing..."

Wait...

I let go of her hand and took a step backwards. She stayed standing and didn't make a move to go inside. The lights on either side of the door flickered and I stared at her face.

She didn't look in the least bit normal. Her looks weren't common. She wasn't a sparrow.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out. Her brown eyes widened. "Can we start over?"

Three heart beats later, she nodded. I held out my hand. "I'm Fang, eighteen, and only dates girls my age."

There was that genuine smile again, except it was enhanced by the blush steadily becoming redder. She clasped my hand, the warmth of the touch spreading throughout my body. "I'm Max, eighteen, and only dates guys who look older than their age."

I smirked. "So, what did you think my age was?" I kept holding her hand. She didn't look like she wanted to let go either.

She bit down her lower lip and quietly murmured, "At least twenty..."

I climbed up the remaining steps and stood right in front of her. Pressing her hand into my cheek, I covered her hand and continued to look at her. Devouring her golden looks. Soaking in the sadness and replacing it with...

"So you like older guys?"

"Well, I-I..."

"Because I was born in June 12."

She smirked and stuck out her pink tongue at me. "I was born in January 14."

WHAT? SHE'S OLDER?

"I'm older than you."

A/N: Charming? Please leave feedback this time because I want to improve my writing of oneshots. I suck at writing them and I desperately want to improve. RnR?