[ PI ] Inspired by the Image Prompt Found Here : https : //m.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4r9taa/ip_hold_my_hand/


 
 He began to know Clara too. He quickly learned to love the way she chuckled to herself when she thought of something funny, usually some lame pun based in their conversation that no one else would find amusing; how she always seemed to have been thinking of him while at school or at home ( “ I was in class and the way the professor laughed reminded me of you, ” and “ Hey! I was wondering if you need a jacket, but I don ’ t know what size you are. Wan na come with? ” ); the little, shy smile that kissed the corners of her mouth when she caught his eyes lingering on her face after she ’ d stopped talking; and the silly laugh she had when she thought that something small was absolutely hilarious – warm, hearty, but just a tad chortle-y. In fact, before he even realized it, Sam was completely smitten. He was hopeful that Clara thought of him fondly too, but he had no delusions about her wanting to start a relationship. Who would? With a homeless, social-reject bum… 
 
 He began to redouble his efforts to find a job. The free-access computers at the library were a helpful resource, and Sam searched the many employment sites for entry-level anything. Almost everything required at least two years of experience. He walked as far afield as he could each day as well, scanning building fronts for “ HELP WANTED ” or “ NOW HIRING ” signs. They were few and far between, and he drew many strange looks from the employees and managers within when he requested an application. 
 
 *I need to clean myself up, * he thought. Despite the new jacket Clara had given him, he still looked like a three-year-old ’ s favorite doll that had lived through a play day of “ baking ” ( with mud ) and a “ hair makeover. ” He was ratty, disheveled, smudged, and scuffed. No one would hire him even if he applied. 
 
 *** 
 
 “ Clara? ” He hesitated a moment, and she looked up from the history notes she was reviewing beside him. It was February, and the diffused, evening light was grey and gold. 
 
 “ I was wondering… Do you think you could help me out? I have a couple applications I wan na turn in, but I really want to make a good impression. Do you think maybe you could give me a haircut and use your shower? ” He trailed off. *Me use the shower, not you. Oh God, I sound like a doofus. * 
 
 Clara's face was a bit reserved. 
 
 “ I don ’ t know about that last part, ” She finally said after an interminable ( half-second ) pause. “ I still live with my mom and dad, and I don ’ t think they ’ d be too keen on me bringing a strange boy home to use the shower… ” She chuckled a bit, blushing right up to her eyebrows, though she didn ’ t seem to notice. “ I think I might be able to manage the haircut though, and maybe wash your clothes? Do you think you could get presentable with the little showers at the beach? ” 
 
 Sam relaxed. “ That would be great, Clara, thanks. ” Before he thought, Sam heard himself continue, “ I really want to find a job and start creating a life, you know, to make a home. Maybe have a family someday. ” 
 
 He couldn ’ t look at her. He could feel the heat on his face and the subtle thrill of tension that had sprung up between them. Then, delicately – like a small songbird alighting – he felt her soft, gentle, white fingers brush against his. They were holding hands. 
 
 “ I think I want that too, Sam. Me too. ”
