Bane and I happened, and I hadn’t even realized it.

Bane and I…went together like UX design and UX coding. One was beautiful and thought-out, thought-provoking with an interface arousing ideal emotions and actions. The other was meticulous and detailed, seemingly an endless facade of tedious work that brought ideas to life as smooth working interactions.

Bane needed to know how she made me feel, how normal and comfortable, how present and enough I felt. She needed to know how one look from her undid me. How she had my emotions all wrapped up and unraveled at the same time.

Her touch lingered on my skin, in my memories, despite how long it’d been, despite the distance between us. I could still taste her sweetness on my lips, knew the softness of her every curve, memorized the floral and fruity scents of her body tucked against mine. She fit perfectly against me. She was perfect for me.

And she needed to know.

Thirty-nine Bhanu

White miso ramen on chilly days was true comfort. Sautéed veggies with a sprinkle of green onion made it perfect. Comfort foods to calm down my rising anxiety about a new job, a new place, more in-person workdays.

I pulled my knee to my chest and blew on my bowl of noodles. I looked across the screens as I chewed. I ate while I worked, a blanket on my legs and lap, a cardigan around my shoulders, and answered all inquiries before checking on research feedback.

No matter how in the zone I was, my traitorous eyes kept returning to his virtual box. Sunny was sitting there, working, his eyes skimming across all billion lines of code, probably, while moving across multiple screens.

His stare stayed affixed to one section of whatever he was looking at and I tilted my head, slurping noodles. His background was different. Had he moved to a new room?

He looked at his camera before typing. A chat box popped up on my screen.

You’ve got something on your face.

What! I rubbed my chin and cheek to find sauce on my fingertips. I scowled at the screen, but Sunny simply leaned back in his chair and smirked.

Sometimes I really hated him.

Okay. Not really. It was impossible to hate that playful smile that made me feel so warm and wonderful.

At some point, he’d turned off his camera and muted himself. And then he’d logged off work early. I, however, worked until seven, fully aware that he’d left a voice mail, had texted, and had DMd through work chat. On the one hand, the idea of talking to him made me giddy. On the other hand, he probably wanted to clarify that we should be civil coworkers and nothing more. Thankfully, I was too busy catching up on work and doing extra for the weeks ahead so I could leave the company with their best product. Not to mention starting the daunting task of finding an apartment in Seattle without fainting from the price of rent.

It was dark, late, and chilly before I closed all the blinds. I was exhausted by the time I finally found the nerves, and common decency, to respond to Sunny.

Bhanu: We can chat, but maybe later? I’m not feeling well.

Sunny immediately replied.

Sunny: What’s wrong?

Bhanu: Been busy.

Sunny: Is that all? Not just avoiding me?

Bhanu: No.

Liar! Well, that wasn’t the only reason. Anxiety climbed ever higher. At least he didn’t push for more conversation.

The following morning, I’d drowsily taken a shower and slipped into fuzzy socks, sweatpants, a frayed T-shirt, and a cardigan before making coffee and downing ibuprofen for this mounting stress-induced headache. Finding a place in Seattle, much less within a reasonable budget, had evolved into a nightmare. There wasn’t much time left before being forced into soul-sucking commutes if I continued to live in Tacoma. I’d asked for two weeks, and was now kicking myself for not asking for more time.

I scratched my back and looked through the fridge and cabinets wondering what in the world I was in the mood to eat. Then realizing how daunting a task packing would be.

My phone screen lit up with a text.

Sunny: Are you home?

Bhanu: Headache holding me captive.

A moment later, as the last drops of coffee dripped into the carafe, there was a knock on the door. I frowned. Who in the world was knocking on my door? It better be Girl Scouts with cookies to save the day.

I checked the peephole and had to look twice to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. Sunny was here? Why? No matter the reason, my entire body quivered at the sight of him, at the nearness of him, and just when I’d thought I had this under control.

I checked my phone after the second knock.

Sunny: I’m at your door.

Bhanu: Creeper.

Sunny:

Rebuking jitters never worked; they only got wilder, reverberating against every nerve, snapping them in half. My stomach tied into knots, the kind that sent flutters sweeping through my insides. I swore I was floating away.

I braced for a conversation about how badly we’d behaved and how it could never happen again.

Easy. I was leaving.

When I opened the door, I wasn’t prepared to be devoured by Sunny’s mere presence. Everything in my peripheral vision blurred.

Sunny stood a couple of feet away. So close that I could smell him. So close that his body heat prowled toward me like a hungry lover. He was tall and broad and took up space in the best way.

He had his hands behind his back, stretching the fabric of his black T-shirt over a broad chest and flat stomach, his chin high so that his hooded eyes were looking down at me with a hint of longing. His hair was its usual disheveled mess, and he was wearing the absolute glory out of a pair of gray joggers—that, um, showcased a bulge that I was well acquainted with. Damn, he looked fine. I couldn’t stop staring.

“My eyes are up here,” he said in that husky voice, one brow cocked and looking all kinds of smug.

Heat made its theatrical return across my cheeks and neck. “What are you doing here?” Great! I still knew how to use words, but they came out breathy, labored.

“I was hoping to talk.”

“Sunny. Really?” I groaned.

He closed his eyes, his expression relaxing. “Damn, I missed how you say my name.”

Wait. What? No, don’t jump to conclusions! But hope bubbled through me.

“Mmm.” He took a deep breath. “Did you make coffee?”

I nodded, wanting him to go back to what he was just saying. Who cared about the damn coffee?