Stares.

She could feel them from all over the place; some heavy and lingering and some flittering, quick ones. Was there something on her face? On her clothes? Had she mismatched her outfit? Ámbar frowned before looking down at her white shirt and blue skirt, checking to see if everything was in order, but nothing was out of place. She wasn't going crazy, she knew that. They were definitely, shamelessly, staring at her.

She huffed, glaring and rolling her eyes at everyone who was looking on her way to one of few the tables available; her mom had borrowed her car that morning without notice, leaving her to take public transportation to the faculty, which made her arguably late for her first class (she was ten minutes early for her teacher to arrive, but she was late to grab one the best seats in the room) and annoyed with the world.

She tried distracting herself by pulling out her cellphone to check the Fab and Chic's comment's page; Delfi and Jazmín's interviews with Simón and his band had been posted the night before, making the blog explode with views, likes and comments. Ámbar had to admit she was not expecting those results; she had barely heard about the guys before she met Delfi and Jazmín in their Digital Communication class last year, their constant humming to the RB's latest single was all she could hear when they studied for an exam, and it was so catchy even her mom became a fan that day.

She, however, never really saw the appeal. Sure, 2/3 of them were good looking, and they weren't talentless, but there was nothing about their music that made them stand out for her then. Even after seeing them two nights ago, she still couldn't fully comprehend it but she'd be lying if she didn't say there was something about their guitarist that made her curiosity peak.

"What are you wearing?" Gastón's voice sounded from her right, making her turn around quickly, tearing her glance away from her phone. He had a funny look on his face, his mouth forming a funny 'o', his eyes glued to her head.

"Clothes," was her obvious reply. She arched her brows, daring him to clarify his point.

He took a couple of seconds to respond, - "no, no, no. I mean, what's with the beanie?" he pointed to her head, where the black beanie she had decided to wear this morning was currently on. She knew she could've easily put it in her purse and keep it there until she saw Simón later that day, but she had tried it on after getting dressed and her judgment told her it looked cute enough to wear it for the day. So, she did.

"What do you mean?" Ámbar tried her best to sound as nonchalant as she could, even if her brain was sending warning signals all over her mind, which was very ridiculous, honestly, since there was no way Gastón or anyone for that matter, could relate it back to Simón since only Delfi and Jazmín appeared in the video the latter posted (Jazmín had been very careful not to mention her in any way, shape or form, still bitter about her 1 on 1 with her favorite band member).

"It's spring, Ámbar."

Ah, so that was what the stares were about.

"So?" she shrugged.

She wasn't as strict with fashion as Jazmín was, which was why she barely posted on the Fab & Chic after their A was granted last year; and even then, she didn't give it the same attention as her casual friends did, since the class had been an optative one for the Law student that she was, instead of a required one for their Communication career.

Gastón's voice was disbelieving, "so you wear warm hats in a warm weather, now?"

"Oh, I'm sorry mister I-wear-Leatherman-jackets-in-summer, I didn't know it was illegal to wear warm clothing after winter. Are you going to call the police on me?" her tone was sweet, yet coated with sarcasm. Gastón raised his arms in mocked surrender.

"Point taken." Ámbar rolled her eyes, but made no further comment. The teacher was to arrive any time soon, and she didn't want him to give her any negative attention; the old man would surely put her on the spot at a point in the class, most likely to answer a question only he knew the answer to; he was that kind of asshole. Her stupid friend didn't get the memo, because just as their teacher was walking in, he decided the blurt the most incriminating words one could say in a classroom. "Let me copy your homework?"

Professor Asshole's glare was enough to make her groan in frustration.

It was going to be a long day.

ººº

Lunch couldn't have come soon enough.

Professor Asshole not only embarrassed Gastón and her in class, but refused to grade her homework too. She protested -quite loudly, actually- and it got her another essay due before the end of the week, as if the four she had already for Thursday wasn't enough. By the end of the reprimand, she was ready to kill Périda the next time she saw him; the idiot was smart enough to flee as soon as the teacher dismissed them.

Her next class wasn't as bad; however, her mood had been ruined already and couldn't pass as quickly as she hoped it would. By now she was hungry as well as pissed, and in need of a cup of coffee and a sandwich to at least calm one of her burdens.

"Well, don't you look dandy, my love." Her best friend greeted her as soon a she stepped in front of their table, smiling sarcastically when she responded with a scowl.

"I'm in no mood for that shit, Em."

"I can see that. Are you even going to tell me, or should I ask my crystal ball?" Emilia arched her left brow, sipping her cup as soon as she asked her question. Ámbar flipped her off.

"Mom took my car this morning, I had to take the stupid bus and was late for my first period, Gastón was a dick on Roman's Law class and got me an extra essay for Friday. Happy?"

Her friend nodded, "I am, actually, because my day has been fantastic, thank you for asking. Yours, however, sounds shitty as fuck."

Ámbar rolled her eyes, "don't remind me, I still have IPL to go through; but whatever, I'll survive. What about you? Didn't you have a test today?"

"I did, and I totally murdered it. Wanna go with me and Benny to celebrate after class? He brought his car today, we can pick you up and drop you off, too."

"Can't. I have a thing to do for Fab & Chic after class." Ámbar took a bite off her sandwich, ignoring when Emilia almost choked on her bagel.

"You're kidding, right?" Ámbar shook her head, "you already accompanied them to that stupid bar on Saturday, what more do those pink princesses need from you?"

"They? Nothing. This is all me."

Emilia scoffed, "stop talking on riddles, A, what are you planning?"

She took a sip of her coffee, "you know how we met that pop band at the bar and Delfi and Jazmín interviewed them, posted the video last night?" Emilia nodded, "well, I met the guitarist and got him to agree to give me an interview today. I'm meeting him after class at the same bar."

"Why?"

Ámbar could tell her friend was confused. Truth be told, so was she. Journalism was nowhere near her ambitions -or dreams-, but something deep within her thought it was a good idea. She always followed her instinct, and most of the time (if not all, as they have never failed her) she was right, so this wouldn't (couldn't) be an exception. She was more than confident that this would benefit her somehow.

Who knew, maybe this would be what could finally put Fab and Chic (and consequently Delfi and Jazmín) up there in the spotlight of Journalism.

"Publicity, attention. This could benefit me in the future, y'know."

"Your future isn't in Journalism, though." Emilia pointed out, arching her left eyebrow again.

Ámbar shrugged it off, "my name would still be out there."

"If you say so. Well, are they giving you a ride?"

"Who?"

"Jazmín and Delfi, duh."

She sipped on her coffee, "they don't know anything about it. I told you, this is all me."

Emilia's face was disbelieving, "so you're meeting this guy, alone?! What the fuck, Ámbar?"

"The guy is a softie, Emilia. Honestly, I don't think he'd hurt a fly, he seemed very... I don't know, weak?"

"As do most serial killers, Smith." Emilia rolled her eyes, not yet convinced that it was a good idea. Ámbar waved her off with her hand.

"I'll text you if it makes you feel better."

Her best friend huffed, "fine. Now, why in the fuck are you wearing a beanie?"

ººº

If she hadn't been pissed before, she certainly was now.

Not only was he 20 minutes late, but the stupid bar that had taken her one full hour to get to was closed. Had the idiot had really dare to trick her? Who the hell was he anyway? A stupid, barely talented guitarist and singer from an even stupider, not even that famous wannabe boyband. He couldn't have stood her up. She was Ámbar Smith, not once in her 21 years had she been stood up in a date- appointment before. And she wouldn't allow it; if she had to search for his stupid ass all over the city and drag him to make sure he kept his word, she would.

That insensitive, stupid, good for nothing of an idiot. The nerve of-

"I'm here! I'm here! I'm so so so so so so so sorry I'm late!" the idiot wheezed out as soon as he was near, almost knocking into her when he stopped running, "Nico forgot to do the laundry, so I had to do it myself since my clean t-shirts were -1 and then Pedro kind of made the microwave explode when he put a metal spoon with his popcorn, not sure how that even happened to be honest and then-"

"I don't care! Do you know how frustrating it was to endure one freaking hour in public transportation to be here in time and then wait half an hour more to wait for his majesty to arrive?! And for what? The stupid bar is even closed!" She was fuming, gesturing wildly to the building.

"Well, what did you expect? It's 16:30, bars aren't usually opened until 18, the earliest." His words only infuriated her more.

"Then why are we here?!"

"It's middle ground for both, and there's this really good Mexican coffee shop around the corner I really like." He shrugged her anger off, and Ámbar swore she was surpassing a level of anger she had never felt before.

"I was wrong, you're a dick dressed in virginity."

He blinked a couple times, not quite getting it. "What?"

She huffed, "nothing, whatever. Where's this coffee shop you're talking about?"

Simón looked at her for moment, but ultimately shrugged again and motioned for her to follow him. The coffee shop was around the corner, not really hidden but not in the spotlight as it was the bar; but it was pretty. It wasn't stereotypically decorated as some of the Mexican restaurants she'd been before, but there was no doubt in her mind that it was Mexican-influenced. It gave her the vibe she's get when she visited Emilia's or that one time her dad took her to Cozumel for winter vacations when she was 17. The big Mexican flag behind the bar was a clear telling, too.

"What do you want? It's on me, don't worry." Simón asked once they found a booth in the farthest corner from the door. She wasn't sure if it was conceited or smart of him to do so, but he was paying and, y'know, doing her this favor so she couldn't really complain. Not that it's ever stopped her before.

"What's good? What are you having?"

"Everything, really. I'm ordering the largest hot chocolate and a couple of conchas, though."

She scrunched up her nose, "a couple of what?"

He laughed, "it's a type of sweet bread, and it's delicious. I could give you a taste of mine, if you want." He offered, but Ámbar shook her head in negative. It really didn't sound appetizing to her.

"Is Mexican coffee any good? I'm more of a coffee-type of girl." Again, he shrugged. Either it was some kind of habit, or he really wanted to push her buttons, because it was annoying her to no end at this point.

"Mom loves café de olla, that's all I know about it, to be honest. Coffee and I don't get along."

Ámbar frowned, unsure if she should really order it. She was super picky about food in general, and his unconvinced ass wasn't any reassuring. "I'll have a medium of those, then."

He nodded, "do you want anything to eat? You can ask for anything, remember I'm paying." Simón joked, shaking the wallet he held in his hand slightly. Ámbar scanned the menu written on one of the near walls, searching for something that could be safe to try.

"Tres leches cake, please."

Simón saluted her, and went to the bar to order. It appeared he was somewhat of a regular, or that the boy behind the counter was a fan; because he greeted him all excited and not all dead like sometimes baristas did. She sighed, and decided to text Emilia and her mom that she was with him already, adding to her mom that she would probably not be hungry for dinner, and to cook just for herself. If she ended up hungry afterwards she'd make herself a soup or something. Instant ramen could do the trick.

Before she knew it, he was back with their drinks, the barista behind him helping with their desserts, saving him the double trip. Simón thanked him once everything was set on the table, tipping him extra five dollars before he took a seat in front of her.

He smiled at her once the boy was gone, "so, how was your day?"

"Shitty. How was yours?"

"Ouch, I'm really sorry I was late, seriously. It wasn't intentional, I swear." He apologized profusely, she just sipped her coffee. And damn it, it was delicious. "My day was mostly unproductive, except maybe for the laundry part. But I slept like a baby until noon and then had to save the apartment from Pedro's unusual cooking disasters, so could've been better."

She sighed, "it's okay, it's just that I hate taking the bus and then this asshole put me in trouble with a teacher and now I have double the work in that class due on Friday."

"Double the ouch. Don't you have a car, or couldn't you take a cab?"

Ámbar arched her eyebrows, "my uni is forty minutes away, a cab would have charged me a fortune. I do have a car, but my mom took it this morning, so I had to take the bus."

"I'm sorry, again," he cringed, "I can give you a ride home after we're finished here, I can't send you home alone."

She thought about it for a minute, before nodding. A ride sounded much better than losing over $20 for a cab or the bus. Plus, free things were always nice.

"We should start, then. I have a paper to start for past-tomorrow and I'm sure whoever cares about you won't want you coming super late."

"Alright, but I do have a few rules." He parted one of his conchas, before dunking it in his hot chocolate and biting it, "nothing about relationships and all the questions are a game."

"Hiding a girl, are you?" she inquired, sipping once more on her coffee. Simón winked at her.

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Fair enough." She nodded. "What's the game about, though?"

He took another bite of his bread before answering, "you have to guess the answer to each question, and I'll confirm or deny. If you guess right, you can ask another question and this time I'll have to answer."

"Are you kidding me? What kind of game is this?" she huffed, angrily taking a bite of her cake. She was almost too mad to not notice its deliciousness. Almost.

"One you have to play with me since I'm helping you and feeding you, for free." Simón arched his eyebrow, she merely shrugged. It's not like she was forcing him to pay, he was the one to offer it, anyway; "and plus, it's gonna be more fun for both. I know it."

"Fine, let's do it." Ámbar sighed. His smirk kind of gave her the creeps, "what?"

"Don't you want to know what happens if you're wrong?"

She looked at him dubiously, "you're not going to ask me to do anything illegal, are you?"

Simón laughed, "no. You just have to answer the question you ask, and I get to ask one that you have to answer."

"But you won't answer it correctly?"

"I guess we'll have to see." He shrugged, "you can start now."

Ámbar sighed, and took out her phone to start a voice recording, because she was too lazy to film it or write it all down in paper. She was going to keep it easy on him, to give herself time to think of some-what-safe questions.

She had to give it to him; he wasn't stupid at all. This little game of him would make it practically impossible for her to guess correctly on deep questions, ultimately turning them on her. The guy wasn't dumb at all.

"I don't like you anymore, just so you know."

"Ah, so you liked me before?" She almost rolls her eyes.

"Your favorite color is blue?"

He smiled. "Yes."

"Would you say fame is what you expected?"

"You won't hold back, will you?" she guessed it was rhetorical, so she didn't say anything. "It wasn't. There's many shades to fame that I never thought existed, that's all I'm telling you for now."

Her curiosity was dying to ask what he meant by that, but chose not to dive into it yet. She didn't think he'd answer, anyway.

"You're a dog person?"

"Another yes. You know me so well!" he joked, finishing the last piece of his first concha; sipping his hot chocolate afterwards.

"What can I say? I'm a great guesser." Ámbar was very thankful she'd googled him before coming, "does it bother you when people put you in a category just because of how you're positioned in the industry?"

"I loathed it. There's more of me than what I choose the media to see, more than what I let other people around me see." Simón frowned, his hold on the bread getting too tie and crumbles of the shell (she guessed that's why they were called conchas) falling down on his cup, "but I've thicken my skin, and now I mostly shrug it off."

"Uh, your best friends are your band?"

He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief; "not quite."

"What? But goo-" she almost slips it out, "then who?"

"Nope, you don't get to question me, it's my turn now." He teased, shaking his head, "have you always wanted to study journalism?"

She cocked her brow, "I'm not studying journalism." He seemed to be thrown off by this, and his face was so funny she almost laughs in it. "I'm a law student. A junior, actually."

"Then why- what?" Ámbar shook her head.

"Nah-uh. My turn. You own a dog?"

"Nope, mom does." He looked smug, now. "Why did you want to interview me if this has nothing to do with your career?"

Ámbar sighed, annoyed with herself for trusting a stupid google interview. Either they were lying, or Simón was twisting the truth. Whatever it was, she wasn't happy at all.

"The Fab & Chic was a project I had with Jazmín and Delfi last year, it was an optative class and we had to create a blog to practice our writing, photography, programming and editing skills. I didn't help that much back then, and they were cool with it, since it wasn't a main priority for me or my career. I guess this interview is a way for me to pay them back. And, well, it might help me get some recognition later, if it does what I'm expecting it to be."

"Which is?"

"Don't you know the rules to your own game?" she snapped at him, making him frown and match her own.

"The game is off, now we ask whatever we want as long as it the other is willing to answer. Now, what are you