Franky bent over the graph paper scattered on his desk, tapping the pencil to his teeth. He'd just opened up shop and was hiding in his office for the time being, hoping to finish some designs before his first customer came by.

He sighed, struck his metal nose once with the end of the pencil, and scribbled a note in the corner of one of the papers. His hair, a distracting sky-blue, began drooping into his face; he straightened up, seizing the bottle of hairspray and the comb at the edge of the desk, and fixed his ducktail with a spritz and a few sweeps of the comb.

He was just bending over his papers again when footsteps came from behind him. He looked up and found someone in the doorway—a woman with pale brown skin (not unlike his own), a defined nose, a dark bob cut, and intelligent eyes.

Franky straightened up, waiting for her to say something, but she was silent. To his surprise, she stepped into the office and approached the desk, studying his sketches and notes.

He cleared his throat. "Hey."

The woman turned to the door as if expecting to see someone behind her.

"I'm talking to you," Franky snapped. "Don't ignore me."

The woman turned back to him and they locked eyes. Her own widened and she pointed to herself quizzically.

"Yes, you, there's no one else in here," Franky said in exasperation. "I don't really mind you coming in here, y'know, but you could ask first. Are you a customer?"

The woman hesitated.

"I'm not a customer," she said at last. Her voice was so soft Franky thought he'd imagined it at first.

"Well—can I help you with something?" he asked impatiently. "The sketches aren't for sale, if you were wondering."

The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice growing stronger. "I saw this place was open, and I was curious. I didn't think you'd—mind."

"I own this shop, so unless it's my lunch break or you're a customer, I'd prefer you'd leave," Franky said, rubbing his temple.

The woman glanced to the side. "Then . . . if you don't mind, when is your lunch break?"

Franky stared at her. She fidgeted.

"What's your deal?" he asked.

She glanced down. "You're the first person to talk to me in a long time. I'd like to get to know you better, if you want to."

She looked back up, and Franky felt a stab of pity for the way her eyes pierced him with such hope.

"I guess," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He told her when he'd be ready for lunch and she nodded. "Meet me here, but knock first."

"I understand." She turned to leave, but paused and glanced back. "What's your name?"

"My—? Oh. Franky," he replied. "Franky Kati."

"I'm Robin," she said with a faint smile. "Robin Nico. See you soon, Franky."

She left the workshop, turning onto the sidewalk and vanishing from sight.

"Strange woman," Franky muttered, scratching his head. He spotted someone else coming in—a normal customer this time—and went out to meet them.

Franky was just setting down the bags on his desk when a knock made him look up. Robin stood in the doorway.

"Hey, c'mon in," he said. He sat in his chair and gestured to the stool. "Go ahead and pull that up, will you?"

Robin brought the stool to the desk and sat. Franky passed her one of the bags and she peeked inside.

"Hope a cheeseburger's okay," he added. "Here—"

He leaned down and came back up with two cola bottles, handing one off to Robin.

"Thank you," she murmured, easily unscrewing and popping off the top. "This is a rather old design, isn't it?"

"Kinda, but this store nearby still sells 'em," Franky said with a grin. "I always thought it tasted better from a glass bottle, anyway."

Robin took a sip. "I can't tell the difference," she admitted, "but it's been some time since I've had soda."

Franky grunted in response and took out his own burger. "So, did you wanna talk about something?"

Robin glanced to her left, taking a bite of her burger and chewing slowly.

"Not in particular," she said at last. "But I'd like to get to know you."

Franky lifted an eyebrow. "You're weird," he said. "But alright, sure, we're already here. Twenty questions it is."

Somehow, Robin seemed to find this amusing, and she ducked her head when she smiled. "Where are you from?" she asked.

Franky looked up in thought. "I lived here when I was a kid with my dad," he said, "and we moved a couple towns over . . . then I moved out after I finished school and came back here."

"You missed your hometown?"

"It's my turn for a question," Franky protested. "Where're you from?"

Robin took another bite of her burger. Once she'd finished it, she replied, "I lived . . . my whole life in this area."

Franky frowned at the phrasing. "What, do you live somewhere else now?"

"It's my turn for a question," Robin pointed out with a little smile. "Though you don't have to answer . . . how did you lose your nose?"

Franky grinned, tapping it. "Factory accident," he said. "I worked blue-collar for a while in college, and the blade slipped. I got it replaced 'cause it looks way cooler this way."

"Good thing it was only your nose," Robin said, calmly taking another bite and then a sip of cola.

"Yeah. My turn." Franky grabbed a few fries and tossed them into his mouth, saying after he swallowed, "So do you live somewhere else now?"

Robin smiled almost sadly, looking at her hands. "Yes," she said. "Merry Avenue."

Franky tilted his head. "Merry Avenue," he muttered. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't place why and gave up after a moment. "Alright, then."

"What's your favorite food?" Robin asked, picking up her burger (half-finished) again.

Franky gestured to his meal. "I get this about once a week. Don't wanna tire it out. How about you? Do you have a favorite?"

Robin smiled. "I like cake, coffee, and sandwiches. My turn. What kind of shop is this?"

Franky eyed her. "You're a weird one, y'know?"

"Pardon?"

"You came in here earlier not even knowing what kind of shop this was?"

Robin shrugged. "I've . . . taken to wandering. You're the first one who's protested."

"That makes everyone else weird, too," Franky pointed out. "If you've wandered into private offices before, it's pretty strange no one would kick you out." He sighed and scratched his head, having finished off his burger. "Anyway, this is an auto repair and parts shop. I sell scrap I can't use and fix little motor problems."

Robin eyed the faint oil stains on his shirt with interest.

"My turn," Franky said, making her look up again. "How old are you?"

Robin hesitated a bit too long.

"Come on, you gotta know how old you are," Franky said in exasperation.

She took a fry and ate it, indicating she would answer afterwards.

"Twenty-nine," she said at last. "I'm twenty-nine."

"If that didn't take forever," Franky muttered. "In anticipation of your next question, I'm thirty-five."

"Good to know," Robin replied, taking out her last fry, "but I didn't ask, so I get a question now. What are these drawings for?"

"Oh, they're for inventions and stuff!" Franky exclaimed, hastily setting down his drink and picking one up to show her. "I like to tinker and make little robots and such, nothing really useful, but they're pretty super! I take 'em apart after I'm done, so I can make more or use the parts for something else—"

He broke off when he found Robin smiling at him.

"So, yeah," he finished, setting the paper aside.

"That's wonderful."

"Huh?"

"That you can make things like that." Robin finished off her drink. "I think it's wonderful."

"O—Oh, yeah!" Franky said, grinning. "Thanks!"

He finished off his food and cleared away the trash. "I gotta get back to work now."

Robin nodded and stood. "Thank you very much for lunch."

"Hey, no problem."

"And thank you . . . for talking with me."

Franky raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, it was fun."

Robin turned. "Then . . . I'll see you around."

For a moment she didn't move, as if waiting for something. Just as she started stepping out the door, Franky blinked and said, "Hey—wait."

Robin turned back.

"Uh . . . you wanna come back here tomorrow, same time?" he said awkwardly. "I'll make sandwiches."

Robin's eyes widened a fraction before a bright smile came onto her face. "That sounds lovely. I'd love to."

"Alright, then," Franky said with a half-shrug. "Have a good day."

"You, too," she replied, turning back around and heading out, still holding a smile.

Franky scratched his head.

"She's an odd one," he said at last.

They met for lunch every day that week. Franky didn't seem to mind buying or making a second lunch, especially when Robin (rather sadly) admitted she (and it was a long story, she said) had no money to spend at the time.

Finally, Franky invited her to his place.

"Come here around closing time," he said. "I live upstairs."

Once he had closed up shop that day, he took Robin up a few flights and led her into his loft. It was a spacious place, despite the clutter of papers and tools littering the desk and floor.

"Sorry about the mess," he said sheepishly. "I don't get a lot of visitors."

"I can tell," Robin said, amused. "I don't mind."

"Oh, good, so I don't have to clean up," Franky said in relief. "I'll make some hot chocolate, yeah? Or do you want dinner?"

"I'm not hungry," Robin said quickly. "But hot chocolate's good."

"Alright, go wait on the couch."

Soon enough, Franky brought over two steaming mugs of cocoa, handing one off to Robin with a warning not to spill it. She thanked him and held the cup carefully.

"You don't get many visitors, you say," Robin murmured.

"Huh? Oh, yeah."

"Do you . . . have friends?"

"Of course I do," Franky said. "It's just most of them don't live immediately near me, y'know? We hang out sometimes, just not here."

Robin nodded, staring unsmiling into her mug. Franky eyed her, the dusk casting soft light over them.

"Why're you here?" he said abruptly.

Robin looked up, startled. "I'm sorry, I can go—"

"No, not here here," Franky exclaimed. "Sorry, that came out wrong—I meant, why'd you wanna start hanging out? Do I just have a super charisma or something?"

"Something like that," Robin said distantly. "I think I'm here . . . because I never felt loved."

Franky blinked, processing her words.

"'Never felt loved?'" he repeated. "Really? I can understand not dating anyone, but—what about friends, or family?"

Robin shook her head. "My aunt was always horrible," she said idly. "And I was never able to make friends at school. That's not to say everyone hated me . . . but I never had anyone to sit with at lunch. Do you know the feeling?"

"Nope," Franky said bluntly. "But, man, that's awful. I'm sorry. So what's this got to do with . . . ?"

"I thought . . . I could be friends with you," Robin admitted. She slowly took a sip of her drink.

"Oh," Franky said. "I mean, we are friends, aren't we?"

Robin looked up, eyes wide.

"Does hanging out this past week not count in your mind or something?" Franky continued. "I mean, geez, do I have to fill out a requirement list?"

Robin stared at him in silence. He glanced away, quickly taking a drink of his cocoa and then coughing into his hand when he found it too hot still.

Finally, she smiled.

"In that case . . . I suppose you're right," she said, her smile coming through in her words. "We are friends."

"Glad we got that one cleared up," Franky said with an awkward grin and thumbs-up.

Robin stared out the window in silence, as if waiting for something, and when nothing occurred, she put her head in her hand, glancing at the wall.

"Do you ever . . ."

Franky waited.

"Do you ever tell your friends 'I love you?'"

"Well, sure," Franky said in surprise. "Almost every time I see them. Sometimes it's kind of a joke, but I still mean it. Why?"

"This is an odd request, but . . ." Robin looked up at him seriously. "Please, never say those words to me."

Franky set his mug on the floor and folded his arms. "Aren't you contradicting yourself now?" he said skeptically. "You say you've never felt love, but you also don't want those words directed at you?"

"I can't really explain it, but . . ." Robin bit her lip. "I think, if you say those words to me . . . I'll have to go away. We'd never see each other again."

"Wow, melodramatic much?" Franky said. "I don't get you, y'know? But, sure, if you don't like it, I won't say that to you."

"Thank you," Robin said, a grateful smile appearing.

Franky scratched the back of his neck, turning to face front. The room was dim.

They talked well into the night, and in the morning, Franky woke up to find they'd both fallen asleep in the middle of a conversation. Their mugs were on the floor, the insides coated with dried chocolate, and Robin was curled up on her side like a cat.

"Hey," Franky muttered, shaking her. She woke with a start, blinking and looking around.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she murmured, flustered. She yawned. "I didn't mean to . . ."

"No big deal," Franky said reassuringly. "You wanna join me in the shop, or do you have somewhere to be?"

Robin rubbed her eyes, getting her feet on the floor. "As long as I don't have to greet customers with you, I'd like to join you in the shop," she said with a smile.

Franky grinned. "Deal. C'mon."

"Sir, I'm telling you, I don't have the parts you need," Franky said in exasperation to the insistent customer.

"But are you really sure?" the man pressed, throwing up a hand. "I mean, did you check the back?"

"I don't have a 'back,'" Franky said slowly. "What you see is what you get. Anything else is in my office and are my personal belongings."

He and the man glanced to the office door when it opened. Robin stepped out, smiled at Franky, and murmured, "Be back soon," before heading outside and disappearing around the corner.

"Sorry, that was my friend," Franky said, turning back to the man.

"Friend?" the man muttered. "Didn't see no one."

"Oh, come on, there's no need to be rude," Franky exclaimed. "Anyway, the parts you need just aren't here, but I can recommend you a place close by—"

"I'll just go find it myself," the man snapped, turning heel and stalking out of the shop.

Robin returned soon with a few sheets of blank drawing paper and a pencil.

"That man didn't look friendly," she remarked.

"Yeah, he was an asshole," Franky agreed. "What's with the paper?"

"I wanted to draw, but I didn't want to take your graph paper," Robin explained. "So I acquired these."

"Acquired?"

Robin smiled. "I'll be in the office."

Franky sighed through his nose and smiled after her as she shut the door partway.

Lunchtime came around, and Franky entered his office to find Robin sketching on her third sheet. The two she had used rested on the side.

"Can I see?"

Robin looked up and passed him her finished drawings. Franky examined them, eyebrows lifting. One was a simple drawing of a few casablanca lilies, and the other was a sketch of a Lovecraftian man with far too many eyes and tongues.

"Whoa."

Robin tilted her head.

"These are really good," Franky said. "But what's with this dude? Was he in some horrible accident?"

"Maybe," Robin said thoughtfully, staring at the wall. "Or he could be the physical embodiment of someone's personality . . . or perhaps a human who lived in extreme conditions."

"I like the details," Franky said once he'd finished staring. "And these flowers . . ."

"They're my favorite," Robin admitted with a shy smile. "They look like stars, don't they?"

Franky looked at her again and was caught for a moment (just a moment) by how she looked at him—he blinked and said, "Yeah, they do."

He looked back at the drawings, and then up at the bulletin board hanging above his desk. He leaned forward, grabbing a pushpin and tacking the eldritch man to the cork.

"What are you doing?" Robin asked.

"These are for the hall of fame," Franky announced. "You cool with that?"

Robin ducked her head, hiding another smile. "Yes."

Franky put up the flowers next, stepping back to check they looked good.

"If you like it, you can put up this one, too," Robin said, gesturing to her incomplete third sketch, "once it's done."

Franky glanced down at her and grinned. "Super!"

That evening, they bade each other goodnight, and Franky went up to his loft while Robin vanished around the street corner. (Robin had wanted to stay at Franky's place again, but didn't want to impose—Franky had wanted to invite her over again, but felt it was strange to do twice in a row.)

The following morning, Franky found his first customers to be rather rude. The couple had brought in an awful wreck, barely recognizable as a motorcycle, and demanded that Franky fix it. The women ignored his protests that it wasn't possible and his offer to buy whatever was useable, and the argument between them and Franky escalated into a shouting match.

Eventually, the conflict ended in the women dragging their heap out the door again, heading right past Robin, who had been waiting just inside the door for a few minutes.

She watched them go, and they acted like they didn't even see her. Once they were gone, she turned to Franky and gave him a nervous smile and wave.

"Oh, hey," Franky muttered, turning away and running a hand through his hair. "Sorry 'bout that. They were pretty rude."

"I noticed," Robin murmured. "I can leave, if you like."

"No, you're good," Franky said. "If you wanna stay in the office, that's—"

He broke off when a pair of arms wrapped around his torso. He looked down to see Robin embracing him.

She hastily let go. "Sorry," she said, placing a hand on her chin and turning away. "I thought, since you looked mad . . ."

When she looked back, Franky was smiling.

"That cheered me right up again," he announced. "Get over here."

He flung out his arms, hugging Robin, and she hugged him in return after a moment, smiling.

Franky grinned. "I lo—"

He cut himself off with a hasty cough. "Uh. Yeah."

They awkwardly released each other and Robin retreated to the office.

At one point, Franky asked Robin why she wore the same outfit every day—a pair of slim jeans and a violet T-shirt. "I own a washing machine," was her flippant reply, though she didn't quite meet Franky's eyes when she said this.

At one point, Robin asked Franky why he wore the same outfit every day—shorts and an open aloha shirt. "I own a bunch of the same stuff," was his shrugging reply, as he gave her a grin.

"Your hands are so small . . ."

Robin looked up. "Pardon?"

"I never noticed before," Franky said as Robin set down the pen on the desk. He took her hands gently, comparing the size with his own. "They're tiny."

Robin smiled, eyes cast down and to the side. "Maybe compared to you."

Franky ran his thumb over her fingers. "You could hold one of my fingers with your entire hand," he said in wonder. He suddenly looked up, eyes wide. "Uh, I don't mean anything bad by this, just making observations—"

"I know," Robin interrupted, looking up at last. "In fact . . . your hands are so big, I'm surprised the mugs at your place are so small."

Franky's eyebrows lifted and he laughed. "Yeah, well, they were cheaper! Gimme a break!"

Robin covered her mouth with a hand as she laughed, her face lighting up like a star in Franky's eyes.

"Hey," Franky said on one Sunday. "Get in my truck."

Robin looked at him from his couch. "Is this a kidnapping?"

"Yep. The ransom is having a good time, with me, for at least the next hour. Think you can afford it?"

Robin smiled and stood. "I think so, yes."

"Start spreading the news, I am leaving today," Franky sang with the radio as they bumped along in his truck, "I want to be a part of it, New York, New York . . ."

"These vagabond shoes are longing to stray," Robin continued. Franky grinned. "Right through the very heart of it . . . New York, New York . . ."

"I wanna wake up in a city that doesn't sleep," they sang together, "And find I'm king of the hill; Top of the heap!"

They grinned at each other.

"These little town blues are melting away . . . I'll make a brand new start of it in old New York!"

Franky rolled to a stop at the light as they kept singing, and some of the other drivers cast him odd glances.

"If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere . . . it's up to you, New York, New York!"

The light changed and they rolled forward.

"New York, New York . . . I wanna wake up in a city that never sleeps, and find I'm a number one; top of the list; King of the hill! A number one! These . . . little town blues . . . all melting away . . . I am gonna make a brand new start of it . . . in old New York!"

"We're almost there," Franky whispered before they continued.

"And if I can make it there, I'm gonna make it anywhere . . . it's up to you, New York, New York! New York!"

They were left smiling as Franky parked the truck.

"You ever been there?" he said at last. "New York, I mean?"

Robin shook her head. "I never really wanted to go, but it sounds nice."

"It totally is," Franky said. "Loud, but nice."

They got out of the truck. Franky took Robin's hand and led her across the gravel and through an arched entrance.

Robin's eyes widened. They faced hundreds of beautiful flowers, arranged perfectly in all sorts of colors, shapes, and species around gravel paths, where people trailed underneath the bright cloudy sky.

"You like flowers, right?" Franky said, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is gonna be really awkward if you don't."

"I love flowers," Robin murmured, her free hand half-covering her smiling mouth. "Oh, my goodness . . ."

Franky grinned. "That's a relief. This place is open for another five hours, we got plenty of time."

Robin began walking, taking Franky along with her.

Throughout their stroll, several people they passed cast Franky odd looks, looking down at his outstretched hand (holding Robin's), though he just raised eyebrows at them until they looked away.

"What's your favorite flower?"

"That little one, looks like a poppy—uh, anemone."

As they walked, Robin seemed to look at each individual flower, taking in every detail, every spot and vein and texture. Perhaps it was a good thing she barely looked at Franky, for otherwise she surely would have noticed he hardly looked at the flowers, but rather her shining face.

When they at last wound up back at the entrance, Robin looked up at him at last with a smile.

"So . . . back to the truck?" Franky said with a grin.

It was only when they reached his truck that Franky realized he hadn't let go of Robin's hand the entire time they'd been together. He hastily released her, allowing her to climb into the truck on her own as he got into the driver's seat.

"Thank you so much."

Franky glanced over. Robin's hands were clasped in her lap and she held a small smile.

"Y—Yeah," Franky said, quickly turning back to face the front. "Uh, no problem, y'know?"

Robin shifted where she sat, getting more comfortable. The sun was low in the sky, but it hadn't yet begun to set.

On their way back, Franky glanced at Robin several times, but each time he hesitated and said nothing.

"Wanna come to my place tonight?" he asked at last. "I'll make us dinner."

"I wouldn't want to impose," Robin murmured. "After all this—"

"No, it's no problem, really."

"Then . . . yes."

One night in Franky's loft, Franky sat at his desk with notes in front of him. But his pen sat still on the wood, and he was looking at Robin, who gazed out the window at the town.

"Y'know . . . it's a clear night," Franky said. Robin looked over.

"C'mon."

"You have a key to the rooftop?" Robin murmured, bewildered, as Franky shut the trapdoor behind them.

Franky shrugged. "Have, illegally made a copy of, same difference, isn't it?"

Robin stared at him.

"Don't tell anyone."

"I won't."

Franky looked around, held up a finger, and said, "Be right back," retreating through the trapdoor again. He returned soon with a few pillows and blankets, which he laid out for them; Robin lay on one blanket, and Franky lay on the other next to her.

The stars twinkled above them in the cloud-free sky.

"Do you know any constellations?" Robin murmured.

Franky stared up into the sky. "I know the Big Dipper," he said, eyeing the cup. "That's part of Ursa Major . . ."

Robin nodded. "That one's Cassiopeia," she said, gesturing to a part of the sky Franky couldn't recognize as a constellation. "And that one's Orion's Belt . . ."

She smiled. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Franky murmured. But he wasn't looking up into the sky. He was looking at Robin.

It had been over two months since Franky and Robin had met each other. One evening, Robin entered Franky's loft after a knock to find him setting something up in the corner.

"Oh, crap," he exclaimed, looking up. "Hey, Flower—uh, I'm almost done, gimme a sec—"

Robin leaned against the wall. "'Flower?'" she repeated.

Franky froze. "Can I call you that? I kinda wanna, but if you're not okay with it—"

"I like it," Robin said with a smile. "Carry on."

Franky glanced behind him. "Okay, turn off the light."

Robin flicked the switch. Franky turned back to whatever he was working on, and when he straightened up, colored lights spun around the room like a soft, slow-moving disco ball. He went to his desk and turned on a music player, which started up a gentle song.

Robin looked around in awe.

"So . . ."

She looked up to find Franky holding out a hand.

"May I have this dance?"

Robin took his hand, and Franky gently pulled her with him. She placed one hand on his shoulder, and he placed a massive one on hers while he held her back with his other, and she held his.

"What's all this about?" Robin murmured as they slowly spun around the place.

"I'll explain after the song," Franky whispered.

They held each other ever-so-tenderly as the melody floated through the room and the lights danced with them, bouncing off their bodies.

The end of the song came far too soon. Franky stepped away to turn off the spinning lights, and Robin went to flick the switch again.

Franky cleared his throat. "It's . . . been some time since we met, hasn't it?"

"I've enjoyed every minute of it, too," Robin said with a soft smile.

Franky grinned. "That's good to hear. Now, hear me out, please—I really don't wanna be that guy, y'know? And . . . we are friends, and I don't wanna ruin that . . . but . . ."

Robin hugged herself, shifting where she stood. "But . . . ?"

Franky took a deep breath. "It's totally okay to stay friends if you say no," he said quickly. "I just wanna get that out of the way. And . . . I wanna say those three words to you so bad, but you don't want me to . . . so I'll say the next best thing."

He smiled hopefully. "Will you let me be your boyfriend?"

Robin's eyes widened, and her mouth tightened for just a moment before her bottom lip trembled. Her eyes suddenly shone with tears, and she bowed her head, covering her mouth with her hands.

"Oh, no," Franky exclaimed, hurrying forward. "Flower—? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—I won't push it, I swear, I just—"

"I'm so sorry," Robin whispered from behind her hands, looking up, tears spilling over her reddened cheeks. "This is all my fault . . . Franky, I want to say yes, I want to say yes so badly, but . . ."

"D—Do you need anything?" Franky said in utter confusion. "I didn't mean to make you sad, I'm really sorry—"

"No, I'm sorry," Robin interrupted, shaking her head, her voice trembling. "I should have left long ago—Franky, I'm sorry—"

Franky grasped her in a hug.

"It's okay," he murmured. "I dunno what you're talking about, really, but don't you blame yourself for anything. You don't have to say yes."

Robin shook her head, but she said nothing more and cried into his chest.

When she fell quiet, Franky looked down and found she had fallen asleep against him. He picked her up and carried her to the couch, laying her down gently.

"G'night, Robin," he whispered.

Franky woke Robin the next morning. She appeared flustered and nodded with a faint smile when he invited her to stay in his office for the day, not bringing up the previous night.

"Fine," Franky said a few hours later to an insistent customer. "You can see my office, but I'm telling you, I don't have anything you need in there."

He led the man to his office and opened the door. Robin, who had been studying a blank sheet of paper, trying to decide what to draw, looked up in surprise.

"Oh, this is Robin," Franky added. "Anyway, you see? All this is scrap for my own use."

The customer looked around. "I don't see a robin."

Franky chuckled. "No, no, my friend here." He gestured to Robin sitting in the chair.

"Friend?" the customer repeated. "You're weirder than I thought." He looked at the billboard, decorated with Franky's sketches and Robin's drawings. "Hey, as long as we're back here, I don't suppose that art's for sale?"

"That one?" Franky said, looking to the sketch of the flower garden. "You'd have to talk to her about that. She's the one who drew it." He gestured to Robin again.

The customer scowled. "Who's 'her?'"

"You're so rude!" Franky exclaimed, scowling. He touched Robin's shoulder. "The lady right here!"

"There ain't no lady in here," the man snapped. "You going nuts or something, buddy? It's just you and me in this place!"

Franky looked at Robin again. "Hey, you just gonna let this go?"

"There's nothing I can do," Robin said. She was looking at the man directly, but he still didn't acknowledge her presence.

"I'm outta here, and don't expect me to come back to a loony," the man said at last, rolling his eyes and heading outside.

Franky stared after him and turned to Robin. "What was that about? He was awfully rude."

Robin shook his head. "It's not his fault," she murmured.

"What do you mean? There's no way he didn't see you."

Robin smiled rather sadly. Franky stared at her.

"You're the first person to talk to me in a long time."
"I lived . . . my whole life in this area."
"I've . . . taken to wandering. You're the first one who's protested."
"I think I'm here . . . because I never felt loved."

"What aren't you telling me?" he said slowly.

Robin looked down at the desk.

"I'll be right back," Franky said. "I promise. Wait here."

He headed out of his office, half-closing the garage door and hanging a sign on the outside.

"Merry Avenue," Franky muttered to himself, hurrying down the street. "She said she lived on Merry Avenue."

He scratched his head. "Why does that sound familiar again?"

He stopped someone on the street. "Hey, do you know which way to Merry Avenue?"

The person told him, and then smiled. "You have someone to visit there?"

"More or less," Franky said, scratching his head. "Thanks."

At the end of the street, he turned left, and at the end of that one, he turned right. Finally, he found himself on Merry Avenue.

He looked down the lane, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Franky found that Robin had vanished when he returned to his shop. In an impulsive move, he decided to close up for the day, and headed up to his place, where he found Robin sitting on the couch.

"Hey, Flower."

Robin looked up. "Franky . . ."

Franky sat next to her. "I went to Merry Avenue."

Robin turned her gaze straight ahead. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. You know what's there?"

Robin was silent.

"There . . . aren't any houses there," Franky said. The words were hard to get out. "There's only a graveyard."

He put his head in his hands. "Robin, you . . ."

"It was a year ago."

Franky waited.

"I was twenty-eight." Robin's voice was impossibly soft. "A car accident. I was in the hospital for a week afterwards."

Franky shook his head slowly—kept shaking his head.

"No one saw me," Robin continued. "No one heard me. Until I met you."

Her hands shook.

"I didn't—I didn't mean to make this drag on so long. I was selfish. I just wanted a friend, someone who would love me—I didn't mean to fall in love with you like this."

"That's not selfish," Franky whispered. "That's not selfish at all."

Robin stood. Franky looked up at last and stood next to her.

"Franky," Robin murmured. "Please, will you . . . say those words to me?"

Franky's breath hitched in his throat.

"If we keep this up—" Robin's hands clenched. "You're bound to say them sooner or later—you might even say them in your sleep—and it'll be unexpected. A surprise. It's best to—"

"No," Franky said.

"Franky, tell me."

"No," Franky said, his voice thick. "No, please—"

Robin hugged him, her small hands clutching his back as she looked up into his face, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears. "Tell me you love me."

"I won't," Franky repeated around the lump in his throat. "I don't wanna lose you, Flower—"

He bent his head down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She gave one to his chin, the highest place she could reach.

"Say them."

"Robin—"

Franky bowed his head, fat tears spilling down his face as he grit his teeth and held Robin so firmly and gently.

"Franky, I love you."

"Flower," Franky whispered. "Robin . . . I . . ."

Robin's tears finally dripped down her face.

"I love you," Franky burst out. "Robin, I love you, I love you so much—I love you, don't leave me, please—"

He knelt and kissed her lips so gently, she kissed him in return through a sad smile, and she hugged him—

"Thank you," she whispered.

And she was gone. Franky stumbled forward as his arms suddenly clutched air and he hugged his torso, falling to his knees.

"Robin!" he exclaimed, looking around desperately, the room blurred. "Robin, Flower, please, come back, come back—"

He let out a broken sob, head bowing and hair touching the floor.

"Robin . . . !"

Three days later

"Here you are."

Franky sat down with an easy smile.

"Hey, Flower."

He set down the bouquet of casablanca lilies. "These are your favorite, aren't they? You told me that once."

Franky crossed his legs, placing his hands on his knees.

"How've you been doing?"

R.I.P.

"Me? I'm going to open up shop again soon."

Robin Nico

Franky set down a can of coffee. "Your favorite, right? I hope you like it cold."

Born February 6, 19XX

"Don't worry, I remembered."

Died May 19, 20XX

Franky stared at the grave, his questions gone unanswered. Tears began filling his eyes.

"Damn," he muttered, wiping at his face. "Y'know . . . I'd like to think of myself as a real tough guy, y'know? One who never cries . . ."

His shoulders shook.

"But I can't really help it."

He let out a sob, bowing his head.

"I miss you so much," he whispered. "It's a good thing you had to hear those words to be at peace . . . otherwise, you would've vanished from my life long ago."

Tears dripped onto his legs. "Robin . . . Robin, I love you. I love you so much. I'm gonna tell you over and over, okay? You'll never be unloved again. You hear me? I'll . . . I'll always love you."

He managed a smile through his tears and slowly stood, resting a hand on the grave marker.

"I'll be back to visit you," he promised. "Count on it."

He slowly left the graveyard, leaving the coffee and the lilies resting in front of Robin's grave.