AJ.
Not loud. Not pushing. Just my name through the gap in the door.
Of all the people who could find me like this, it would have to be him. The man I should keep at arm’s length.The man I have been keeping at arm’s length. The man who keeps noticing the spaces I have spent years teaching people not to look at too closely.
I drag in one breath.
Then another.
“Come in,” I say, and my voice almost sounds like mine.
The door opens a few inches first, as if he is giving me time to change my mind. Then he steps inside.
He stops just inside the door and leaves it partly open behind him.
“I brought you absolutely nothing,” he says.
I look at him.
He gestures towards the mug on my desk. “You already had tea and refused to use it.”
Something almost laughs in me.
It does not quite make it out.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” I say.
“I’ve had mixed success with doing what I’m supposed to.”
My mouth wants to soften.
I do not let it.
Not fully.
“You should be with the others.”
“So should you.”
“I’m doing notes.”
His gaze drops briefly to the blank monitor, then back to me.
“No,” he says. “You’re standing over a keyboard thinking about doing notes.”
I should snap at him.
I should remind him where he is and what I am and where the lines are.
Instead, I turn back to the desk because my face feels too exposed.
“You’ve become dangerously observant.”
“I had a good teacher.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
