6 - Why do you remember small things about me? Stalker much?

Shocking as it may seem because of Andrew's overall stunning visuals and gorgeous personality, he's also never been on a date since college. Too busy studying, too busy working, too busy serving Allen's every whim, and extremely too busy partying with friends as a stress reliever to entertain a romantic relationship.

That's why today, Andrew will fulfill his desire to have a swoon-worthy college date with a rich older boyfriend or die trying, even if it's with the boss he loathes. On the bright side, Andrew will never have to spend another minute with Sir Allen if their plan succeeds.

No, not if. When their plan succeeds.

He inspected himself again in his college uniform. A refined blue vest over a faded yellow button-down shirt and a pair of dark blue slacks. He looked heavenly.

Now, what does a date with Sir Allen look like?

Photo 1: Andrew & Sir Allen in their school uniforms sitting side-by-side in plush theater seats. They wore 3D glasses and sweet grins. A bouquet and a ginormous bucket of popcorn on Andrew's lap.

Andrew walked into the Cinema Complex in search of his fake date. The complex was brightly lit with yellow light bulbs that framed each movie's posters that were showing. The buttery smell of popcorn lingered in the air.

Standing beside one of the silver pillars that dominated the interior was one man in a posh uniform of a school known for its affluent students. It was a long-sleeved shirt with a navy coat on top and a pair of slacks. The school emblem was subdued in its earth colors.

The uniform may be eye-catching, but it wasn't only the uniform that pulled the attention of passersby. It was the man who wore it himself... Well, if Andrew must admit unwillingly. The man did have an attractive aura about him. Too bad he was a terrible boss.

Sir Allen has his hand behind his back. He must be holding something behind, or else he'd look stupid standing like that. Sir Allen turned his head and caught Andrew's eye. Sir Allen raised his hand from behind, revealing a bouquet of arranged flowers, and waved it in the air with a straight face. Andrew couldn't help but cackle at the sight of Sir Allen. They met halfway, and Sir Allen shoved the bouquet in Andrew's hand.

"It's candy," he said. "Edible bouquet. A reliable source said that flowers are a must for first dates. But after thinking, you'd probably like something more practical."

Andrew swallowed one whole rosebud. It tasted like roasted nut chocolate. This was expensive shit. Andrew felt bad because he didn't bring anything. He glared at his fake date. He probably did this to make Andrew look bad.

Sir Allen leaned down and read the embroidered faculty name on Andrew's shirt, "College of Hotel Management."

"You know, even though you're excellent at your secretarial and executive duties. It never slipped my mind that you have another set of skills."

"And it never slipped my mind that you always ask me to make your complicated coffee," replied Andrew.

"That is because you make delicious coffee."

Andrew smiled. "Well, who said flattery never works? What are we watching?"

Sir Allen took out two cinema tickets and read them. "It's a romantic comedy. According to my source, this is the genre for movie dates."

Andrew huffed as he dragged Sir Allen to the snack booth and forced him to buy the largest popcorn they had on the menu. "Is your source Luiz by any chance?" Andrew asked.

A grunt came as his reply.

They were handed their snacks. On the side, Andrew put a swig of liquor in his Coke. They headed towards the theater and sat on their seats. Some staff handed them 3D glasses.

"I thought this was a rom-com?" Asked Andrew, confused.

The staff grinned at them. "It's the latest mind-genre bending romcom of the century. It's popular online."

"Kids these days are so creative, aren't they?"

The staff snorted. "Aren't you two also kids?"

Andrew looked down at his uniform. He giggled. "Yes. Yes, we are. Before you leave, can you take a picture?" Andrew handed them his phone and wrapped his arms around his food. He blew out his cheeks and smiled. By instinct, he knew Sir Allen wasn't smiling.

"Closer," the staff instructed.

They both scooched closer until their shoulders bumped.

"Alright, smile!"

Photo 2: Sir Allen is wearing a wary expression as he pickpocketed a chocolate bar in a convenience store.

"Do it," grunted Andrew. "Quickly."

"Stealing is against the law," said Sir Allen between his teeth. "We are going to get arrested."

Andrew rolled his eyes. "No one gets imprisoned for stealing chocolate."

"Tell that to Jean Valjean," muttered Sir Allen. The veins in his forehead had become more prominent.

"A reference to a musical... You are gay," said Andrew as he pretended to scan the rack for anything. He took out his phone and readied his camera. He glanced at the convex mirror on the ceiling. The moment the cashier turned his back to microwave something. Andrew said, "Do it now."

Sir Allen snatched the chocolate bar and shoved it into his front pocket. He grabbed Andrew's wrist and pulled him as they dashed for the exit. Andrew got pulled along as Sir Allen was determined to put a significant distance between them and the place of crime.

Until Sir Allen had deemed it was safe enough for them to stop. Andrew had his hands on his knees, trying to suck in as much air as possible. Then he heard Sir Allen burst in joyous laughter. He turned around with a mischievous grin.

"I can't believe I just did that," he said, out of breath. He took out his prize and brandished it. "I just stole this bar."

Oh no. Did Andrew just convert his boss into a kleptomaniac?

Andrew took out a handkerchief from his vest. He closed the distance between him and his boss and patted the sheen of sweat on the other man's forehead. Sir Allen responded with a smile. Andrew could feel Sir Allen watching him.

"Come on," he said with a gentle voice. "I booked us something I know you would like. Take it as a first of many thank you's for your excellent service for me and the company."

This motherfucker treated Andrew like a slave. And not the good kind. Yet he thinks wherever he's about to take Andrew can serve as a thank you.

Photo 3: Andrew deep-throating a Kimchi Bratwurst in front of the meat section of a renowned Fusion-cuisine buffet. An embarrassed Sir Allen was behind him.

Andrew moaned after he swallowed the Kimchi Bratwurst. He heaved a satisfied smile, but he still scoured the buffet to add more food to his plate like a vulture. There was an endless row of fusion food laid out in white marble, with the chefs behind their counters serving out their creations.

"Could you please stop making inappropriate noise each time you find something delicious?" A red-cheeked Sir Allen begged Andrew. The chef who took the photo returned Sir Allen's phone with clear hesitation.

Sir Allen cleaned up his own mess for once and not the other way around. If Andrew could apologize to hundreds of staff for Sir Allen's rude behavior, Sir Allen could endure a few stares from renowned chefs.

They returned to their seats with a feast on their hands.

"Spill. How did you know that I've dreamed of eating in this joint?"

"It's not a coincidence that I've brought you here," replied Sir Allen, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes were looking everywhere but Andrew. "I wasn't spying per se, but in one of the return trips. I watched—no, I noticed you and the driver having a conversation about this place. You told him it was only for those who have the luxury of excess money. Well, I have it in excess, so here we are."

Andrew's mind blanked. "I can't believe you remembered that."

Sir Allen replied with his signature grunt and started on his meal. "And I cannot believe you cried during the movie."

Photo 4: A blurry image of Andrew flashing a huge grin a while inside a liquor store. His eyes were squished like two crescent moons from the broadness of his smile as he slid a bottle of tequila inside his pants.

Andrew stared, from afar, the liquor store wedged between a café and a salon. Its bright display of rows and rows of liquors sparkled in the orange light of the setting sun. He licked his dry lips and said, "Dare me to steal a bottle of tequila. Quick. Dare me."

"What? No," replied Sir Allen, appalled. "I will not dare you to do an act of crime, Andrew. We are only pretending to be college students."

Andrew ignored him and went anyway. That left an alarmed Sir Allen following him. The liquor store had no employees inside. The counter was empty, no guards, no nothing, except for racks of beautiful alcohol. Perfect.

"Andrew," Sir Allen hissed under his breath. "I order you to stop immediately."

"Shut up and get your phone ready." Andrew eyed the bottle of rose tequila.

"Did you just tell me to shut up?"

"Now!"

The panic caused unstableness in Sir Allen's hand. Which Andrew teased him about later.

Photo 5: Sir Allen & Andrew are in bed together with their bare shoulders peeking from under the duvet. Sir Allen's tattoo is clear in the photo. And Andrew's black collar.

"Stop staring," said Sir Allen as he undressed from his uniform. His hair was purposely styled to look like it was held from behind during hot passionate sex. A faint blush painted Sir Allen's face. "Can you please stop narrating?"

"Sorry, I didn't realize I said that out loud." Andrew was shirtless under the hotel duvet. His hair was also mussed to perfection, and he sported a fake sheen of sweat on his shoulders. "Who knew you've been hiding a bomb body? You're going to do well in porn. Oh, don't forget to use the spray bottle." He kept his gaze tracked to his Boss, who revealed his torso, one button at a time. Being the devil's incarnate does a body good.

"Can you spray my back?" The bed dipped under Sir Allen's weight, the broad expanse of his back in full display in front of Andrew. Andrew slammed his hand on Sir Allen's back and spread the water droplets all over. His protests earned a peal of laughter from Andrew. But he got caught off guard as Sir Allen grabbed both his wrists and slammed Andrew on the bed beneath him. Andrew's lip curled into a smirk.

"What? Not allergic to human contact anymore?"

Sir Allen rolled his eyes. "I am not allergic to human contact." After a beat, it looked like Sir Allen realized how compromising their position was. He withdrew back and cleared his throat. Poor guy must be touch starved.

"Let's just take the photo," said Sir Allen as they covered themselves with the duvet. Andrew scooched closer to Sir Allen and smiled at him, which the man ignored as he rustled up his phone. While the man wasn't looking, Andrew also rustled up a black leather collar with a silver ring sewn into it. He wore it on his neck and snuggled his face on Sir Allen's shoulder. He ignored Sir Allen's flinch. Andrew swiped the phone from Sir Allen's clammy palms.

"What's the collar for?" inquired Sir Allen, all innocent and pure.

"Hurry up and just smile for the camera. We have to catch that Mexican restaurant before it closes."

"Smile!"

-~-~-

They settled down for an early dinner in The Rolling Scones. A small cafe in a popular hub of restaurants. The place was quaint and soft with antique furniture and white and yellow linen. There was a babble of chatter; from groups of students strolling down the streets that leaked into the restaurant and the idle conversations of the patrons. It all mixed that to form a soothing white noise. Andrew returned from the bathroom and sat across Sir Allen.

"I ordered you a seafood pasta and a kiwi shake, is that alright?" said Sir Allen.

Andrew nodded, delighted with Sir Allen's choice. "Yeah, great, actually. That's exactly what I wanted. How did you know?"

Sir Allen bent down his head and riffled through his open, occasionally glancing up at Andrew as he accounted his known observations. "I'm certain you don't remember, but when we were dining at the Pacific Hotel. I noticed you were eyeing the seafood meal and ordered pasta multiple times on several business trips. As for the Kiwi, you like them, right? It's the first thing you eat in the morning. Outside or inside the office."

"Oh." That was all Andrew could articulate. There's just something about people remembering small details about you that just pinches your cheeks in a way unknown to Andrew. He felt a little warm on his cheeks. He cleared his throat and fumbled around.

"Oh, um. I like pasta. My favorite. I could eat any kind."

After a pause in the conversation, Sir Allen cleared his throat. "Don't be surprised that I know these details about you. You are my secretary after all. We have been together for six years."

"Well, you are a self-centered jerk-of-a-boss."

Sir Allen narrowed his eyes and raised his chin. "I'm just focused."

"And you don't care about your employees."

Sir Allen had the decency to look affronted. "I care about them... on occasion. But I am self-aware that I don't  have the social butterfly status of the office."

Andrew leaned back and sighed. "But everyone either hates you or is afraid of you. Or both."

Sir Allen puffed his chest and nodded once. "I don't care about how people in the workplace see me as long as I bring results."

"And you shouldn't care about those people," said Andrew. "But you should care about what your team thinks of you."

Sir Allen looked alarmed at Andrew's revelation. His forehead creased and he glared at the accusation implied. "Surely, it's not that bad. Yes, I can be ruthless at times, but it is all work."

Andrew's mouth was left agape. Andrew couldn't figure out how someone so smart could be so stupid. "They call you Satan's spawn. That's pretty telling if you ask me."

"It's normal to talk about your boss behind their backs."

"We don't even talk about you because it spoils our mood."

"I—"

"You made someone cry."

Sir Allen crossed his arms across his chest and had the gall to look sheepish about his bad choices in management as he asked, "You are not making this up?"

Andrew stared in astonishment. "You were there when she was crying. You told her to stop. So, you don't enjoy torturing your employees?"

"Of course not," Sir Allen mumbled. He groaned and slammed his head on the table, making Andrew flinch. Sir Allen groaned some more.

Should Andrew comfort him? When Sir Allen had announced that he was self-aware, Andrew thought that Sir Allen would've known he was hated across the nation, which means the office.

There was a considerable pause in their conversation, which Andrew didn't mind as he was used to it. He used the opportunity to slip the waitress a small shot of the tequila he stole and asked her to put it in his kiwi shake. Suddenly, Sir Allen shot up and declared, "I'll make this right. I will try to befriend my team before I leave."

"A little too late for that," Andrew mumbled. "You should loosen up a bit—here comes our food." He curled his pasta around his fork and offered it to Sir Allen. Andrew smiled at him and said, "Say ahh."

A visible flush crept on Sir Allen's cheeks. "It's embarrassing," he said. "No need for that."

Andrew wiggled his hand. "Come on. We're supposed to be a couple. Don't be shy and swallow it."

Sir Allen eyed him. He glanced at their sides as if to inspect if someone was watching. He cleared his throat. "Alright, alright," he mumbled. He leaned forward and ate the pasta on Andrew's fork. Andrew grinned at him.

A pair of police officers came inside the restaurants. The manager had approached them as their eyes scanned the restaurant. Andrew didn't mind them.

"This is going to be awesome," Andrew awed at his meal. But then, as he opened his mouth to welcome the delicious meal, he made eye contact with one of the officers. The officer glared in response. Andrew glared back. The officer brought out a piece of paper, and his eyes darted from the photo to Andrew.

Andrew's mouth had become dry. He's been in this scenario many times. He knew day drinking would get him into trouble someday. The officers headed their way.

Sir Allen finally noticed when the two officers towered over them. He swallowed a lump in his throat. He slowly rustled up a chocolate bar from his pocket and slid it atop the table. The police officer quirked his eyebrow at Sir Allen. The officer probably thought it was a bribe. The other officer, who was more menacing, held out the photo and stared at their uniforms.

"This is them alright," he said. "Same uniforms. Same disgusting mug." He glanced at Sir Allen at the last part.

"Allen Lopez, you're suspected of forcing an intoxicated minor into a motel. Please do not resist and come with us quietly."

"Minor?" Sir Allen objected. "The only person I've been with is Andrew."

"We've got our confession."

At that statement, everybody looked at Andrew. He smiled and chuckled, a little bit shyly. He couldn't deny that he was flattered to be mistaken as a minor. All those skincare regimes he faithfully followed had finally paid off. The police officers had taken Andrew's chuckles and silence as an agreement to the crime accused of Sir Allen.

Sir Allen objected and wanted Andrew to speak up. Andrew pretended that the police had finally found Sir Allen guilty of corporate tyranny and sentenced him to prison.

Sir Allen behind bars is one of the things Andrew would like to witness before he leaves and pursues his dream.

Andrew whipped out his phone and recorded everything.

-~-~-

Maybe it was only Andrew who found the whole situation hilarious as he was being subjected to Sir Allen's glare behind prison bars. He was sitting on the ground while also shooting narrow-eyed fury at any of the other detainees who dared get near him. It was funny because he was still in a uniform of a known prestigious school.

Andrew sat with the presiding officer at his desk. He had already explained everything to the officer to avoid any criminal record. All charges were dropped, and they were both clear to go. However, Sir Allen didn't know that for now. Andrew paid good money to ensure that the police would only let Sir Allen go when his legal guardian arrived.

"Are you sure 'bout this, Drew?" Uncle Karlito, the presiding officer asked, sitting forward in his seat. Concern was written on his face. He jerked his head towards Sir Allen. "If he's forcing you into this weird fake boyfriend situation. Just give me a signal or a wink, and I'll fuck him up with my boys here."

Andrew couldn't resist the urge to wink, but it looked like some divine intervention had stopped his eyelids from winking. He opted for a sigh.

"No, it's all consensual. Don't worry. He's paying me good money to do this whole elaborate scheme of his. Seems weird, I know, but that's rich people for you."

Uncle Karlito leaned back in his seat, scrutinizing Andrew. "You don't like him?"

Andrew gagged and bent down in fake disgust. "What? Ew, no, gross! How could you even think that?"

"Well, you said he's powerful because his family owns the company. Has angelic parents that would accept it even if he just told them he didn't want to inherit the said business. And he's swimming in money. These are the exact phrases you told me earlier. What's not to like?"

"Gross. Stop!" Andrew glared at him and curled his upper lip in disgust.

Uncle Karlito was unimpressed. "That blush on your face says otherwise."

Andrew had just about it with these fat policemen. Andrew was about to lose his shit. He stood up with resentful rage in his eyes. He was about to lay down some serious smack talk up in this joint when a windswept Mr. and Mrs. Lopez burst through the station doors. The genuine panic they had displayed for their son had drawn Andrew to run and comfort them. Mr. Lopez scanned Andrew head to toe while Mrs. Lopez patted him down urgently.

"Are you okay, Alfonso?" asked Mr. Lopez. "No injuries?"

"No, we're both fine," Andrew replied with a comforting smile. He led them to Uncle Karlito's desk. They had signed the documents and listened to what had caused their eldest son's arrest.

"We got a report that two students pickpocketed around town then entered a motel. The witnesses had initially thought that Allen Lopez had brought an intoxicated minor."

"Mom, dad," Sir Allen walked up to them, back straight and with a serious expression. "Mr. Karlito, may I ask for the bathroom?"

"Yes, yes," said Mrs. Lopez. She smiled, but she kept fiddling with her bracelet. "Go relieve yourself first. It must've been a terrible experience. Mr. Karlito, would you mind showing him the way?"

Uncle Karlito nodded and stood up. "Not at all." He rounded the table and escorted Sir Allen out into the hallway.

Andrew swiveled in his seat and faced the family. Auntie and Uncle were not good liars. Though he flirted with risking losing his five million, should he ask what's been bothering him ever since they've met?

"Auntie, Uncle? I know this is weird for me to ask, but why haven't you reprimanded your son? Like ever. You just got called to a police station because your son got detained for a possible crime."

The pair exchanged worried glances. There it was again. The silent communication they were capable of. Mrs. Lopez reached out and enveloped Andrew's hands with hers as she tried to find the words.

"You see, Alfonso. Before you came along," she said in hushed tones. "We weren't like this. Our children grew up with cold and distant versions of us. Versions we're not proud of. How could we? We didn't even know one of our sons was in a committed relationship. We don't know their favorite colors."

"We never talked to our children," added Mr. Lopez, staring at a spot on the ground. "We clothed them, fed them, but we never showed our love for them. Our house grew cold. Only now can we talk like this with our sons. We don't want to jeopardize that by reprimanding him for his mistakes."

Andrew held Mrs. Lopez tight. "You say you want to change your family's lack of your communication. Yet here you guys are. Not saying your piece and letting your son do whatever he wants. While you just accept it with a smile even though you really aren't smiling."

"We just want him to be comfortable around us. We've already missed our chance at providing them with a warm and accepting childhood. We don't want to lose more."

"Families fight when they argue. Friends argue. Even you two have argued in the past. Fights are important because you both get to say what's on your mind. But arguments caused by bottled-up emotions rarely leave both sides without scars."

"We don't even know how to start," Mrs. Lopez said in hushed tones.

"Buckle up and start acting like parents!" Andrew yelled. "Your son just got imprisoned for stealing, day drinking, and sexual harassment. And he's sent you, not one, but several photos of him getting wasted and drunk out of his mind. You should be telling him off and smacking the living daylights out of him."

Determination washed over their faces. They caught each other's eyes once again and agreed via one decisive nod. Mrs. Lopez swiveled towards Andrew with pressed lips and flared nostrils. She smacked Andrew on his arm.

"Why are you drinking in public," she exclaimed. "Day drinking should be done indoors. Drinking in public settings is only acceptable when the sun is out!"

Andrew tried to fend off the incoming smacks. "But it was tequila rose."

That earned him a whack on the thighs. "The doesn't matter. But it's good that you're always together with our son. You two always need to be together, alright? One should always have a clear mind when the other is drunk."

Andrew only nodded. Afraid of earning another thwack.

"That felt good. Come here, son." She took Andrew in her arms and enveloped him in her warmth. Andrew froze in response. He must have been stiff all over, yet Mrs. Lopez only patted him in the back until his body sagged in acceptance. His arms lay lifeless in his side.

"After dad beats some sense into your boyfriend," said Mrs. Lopez. "Let us have dinner."

Andrew, still shell-shocked at the sudden affection, just nodded. He saw Sir Allen come in from the corner of his eyes with Uncle Karlito. Mr. Lopez's previous expression was washed away by anger.

"Is this good?" he asked them both. A chuckle slipped out of Andrew. "Angrier, Mr. Lopez. Do it like in one of your meetings?"

"That's it, dear!" Mrs. Lopez praised him.

Mr. Lopez shot up from his seat and rounded on Sir Allen. Andrew forgot that he wasn't supposed to know how Uncle looked liked in a meeting because he's not supposed to be a Lopez Co. employee.

-~-~-

Andrew and Sir Allen stood side-by-side as they strolled along Sir Allen's lawn.

"You got a pretty big scolding, huh."

Sir Allen rolled his eyes. "They were exaggerating. It was all misunderstanding in the end. Plus, one record is not going to destroy my future. I am the youngest Vice President in the company! And that's saying something."

Sir Allen was smiling even though he was complaining. It made Andrew curl a smile on his lips. "Well, you know how parents get. You also got scolded. Are you alright?"

"Of course, I'm alright. Words like that won't cut me." Andrew snorted. "I work for you after all." It was a mild scolding. Andrew would give it a six out of ten. But it had been fun. Being in a sort-of family. Like he was in a sitcom.

Sir Allen responded with a side-long glance. "We accomplished something huge today. Mom and dad have finally—as you would say it: popped off—now we are one step closer to our goal."

Andrew wasn't completely sure about this, but Auntie and Uncle might let Sir Allen pursue his dreams if he just said so. Even though it's late and they were misunderstood, they both want what's best for their sons. Andrew sighed.

"It is pretty bomb that I got mistaken for a minor," he mumbled.

"Maybe it's because you're cute," said Sir Allen, absent-minded.

Andrew scratched his nose. Shit. Were they having a moment? They were having a moment.

They reached the gate. There was already a cab waiting outside. They bid their goodbyes, and Andrew poured himself into the cab's backseat. He turned, and they caught each other's eye. The corner of Sir Allen's lip curled. He waved goodbye while he slid his other hand into his pocket and leaned on the gate.

They didn't tear their sights away from each other until the cab had turned in a corner. Andrew swore he left a packet of marijuana that he swiped from the evidence room in Sir Allen's jeans. He stared and stared but couldn't remember. But never mind.