Page 17 of Outdrawn

Tyson chuckled. "Alright, come on. What's wrong with him? Too nice?"

"Too much like you," she said.

"You know, it's a good thing I actually like you." Tyson motioned for his pen back. "Otherwise, I'd tell you to fuck yourself."

She smiled. "Right back at you."

"Goodnight, Sage." He sighed, exaggerating his exasperation. "Be nice."

It's silent after Tyson's footsteps fade, and I turned back to my desk, doing my best to refocus. I couldn’t seem to stop wondering about their exchange and her comment about his brother. The question kept rising in my throat; I did everything I could to keep it down, but my luck was bound to run out.

"How long has Tyson been your editor?" I glanced at her as I asked, expecting to have to repeat myself because of her headphones. Surprisingly, even though she'd replaced the set, one had been positioned off her ear, like she'd been expecting to interact.

"He signed on a few months before me," Sage said without looking away from the scene she was doing line art on. "But we didn't start working on the same projects until a few years ago."

"Wow."

"What?" She'd kept her gaze on her work, but her hand wasn't moving as quickly as before.

I shook my head. "Nothing."

The quiet fell again, and I listened to her pen tracing over her screen. She drew with one knee pulled to her chest—the same position she was in during the meeting.

"It's just…" I shrugged. My heart hammered for no other reason than it was awkward hearing my voice and nothing else. We were the only artists on the floor; I saw a maintenance person disappear into one of the conference rooms, but other than that, we were on our own.

The offices seemed softer when they were empty. The buzz of hustling people trying to make their deadline was replaced with humming silence. The white glow left behind from the fairy lights of a few cubicles was the only thing that illuminated the space. I'd turned on my diffuser earlier, and the calming scent of lavender helped relax my muscles. So, I wasn’t sure why I had to go and poke the bear. I could have left well enough alone and enjoyed a peaceful night.

"You guys have been here a long time. One would assume you'd move on," I finished.

Sage was quiet for so long, I thought maybe she moved her headphones back into place.

"Well, we haven't," she said finally.

"Clearly."

"The judgment in your tone is impressive, considering this is your first staff position."

My expression soured. "I wasn't judging, just making an observation. Small talk."

"It's official, we're both shit at small talk," she decided.

"Speak for yourself. I'm great at it, or, at least, I usually am when I have interesting company." I said the last part under my breath.

Sage straightened and looked back at me. "Don't you have something to do? Or did you hang back to try and prove a point?"

I opened my mouth but couldn't think of a retort quick enough. Sage made a show of pulling her headphones on all the way, and I scowled, turning back to my computer. It felt like I'd stepped into a time machine.

In college, Sage had a habit of staying late in the studio. One semester, I'd been so determined to find my art style, I started pulling all-nighters too.

That year, we noticed each other in a way we hadn't when everyone else was in the studio. Instead of bonding, though, we silently tried to outdo each other by seeing who could stay up the latest. I lost more nights than not. Whenever I ended up dozing off at my desk, drooling over my pieces, Sage would draw in my sketchbook.

I didn't notice at first. There'd be unassuming roses in the corner here or napping cats there. It took her drawing a comic panel of a girl sleeping on a desk with flowers growing from her afro for me to realize what she was doing.

In the beginning, I thought it was her way of being friendly, her way of potentially…flirting. But she was never the first one to strike up a conversation, and whenever I tried, she didn't do anything to keep it going. So, I decided it was meaningless, or, if anything, a casual flex at how she could make masterpieces on cheap sketch paper while I failed to stay awake long enough to finish my projects.

For fun, I started answering her back in the sketches. Back then, my skill was noticeably behind hers. What I lacked in skill, I made up for with grit. And so, our first comic battle commenced.

It lasted for months. We created characters and wove our stories together. Our work started to blend, and I started to wonder if maybe we could be friends. Then, she ended it.

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