“What are you doing here, Matthew?” My voice sounds rough to my own ears. Speaking through the door isn’t good manners but… fuck it. I’m not ready to see him; opening the door would be an irrevocable action. Symbolic of starting something new. Like a coward I keep it closed.
“I bring a peace offering and some occupation for your time tonight. I got some take-out from that Indian place you’re always going to,” Matthew says. I perk up at the thought of curry. Getting food as a gift is a loophole to the therapy rules. Coward or not, I have to open the door; any more talking through the door would be rude… and he brought food.
“Occupation of my time?” Spoken as if I don’t have plans tonight. I don’t, but Matthew assuming that I have no plans hurts my ego. Am I that predictable?
“Well, if we’re going to be friends maybe we should… hang out?”
Matthew wants to hang out; has Hell frozen over? I open the door and my brain stutters at the sight of him. He stands in the doorway mussed, suit jacket on his arm with his dress shirt sleeves rolled up. His hair looks messy, as if he’s been running his fingers through it; those same fingers that had touched mine earlier.
“Are you going to let me inside?” The words purr out. I mentally curse because I’m staring, again; my face feels hot. It’s clear that though I feel defenseless outside the office, Matthew does not.
“I probably won’t be very good company tonight,” I say. Matthew just lifts a brow, so I shrug and let Matthew the Enigma into my sanctuary; he hands over an amazing smelling bag from the curry place down the street as payment. I open the bag and the spicy steam bathes my face, the delight of it distracting me for a moment but not long. He had gotten my usual order. How did he know?
We don’t spend time together and it wasn’t like we hung out when Dad was alive. The skin on the back of my neck tickles.
“I told the owner I was picking up food for you and they packed it,” Matthew says as if reading my mind or probably just deciphering the look on my face. I huff out a breath in relief and close the door of the apartment. Raj’s curry is divine; I’ve been a regular since moving into this building and Raj always teases me good-naturedly about how I could keep him in business with just the amount of curry I order alone.
“Did you want any? Do you even like to eat food?” It’s an awkward question to ask but I am, for the most part, clueless to Matthew’s inner mechanics. I’ve seen instances where Matthew will take a bite or drink of something but it’s a rare thing. I walk around Matthew, who looks around the open-plan apartment in a thoughtful way and I head for the kitchen.
“I can eat food, but I don’t have to. I can also taste but it hasn’t been something I’ve explored. Eating and drinking around people makes me seem more normal; can you imagine the reaction at work if I didn’t down coffee with the rest of the masses?” Matthew muses and my abrupt laughter surprises me. It’s not a sound I expected to make around him.
“With the way you work, there would definitely be a small-scale investigation of snooping coworkers trying to catch up with a, ‘I’ll have whatever he’s having.’”
Matthew flashes me a wolfish grin. The only crack in his perfect looks is the occasional strand of dark hair falling on his cheek. That none have suspected him being more than meets the eye is miraculous.
“You should probably tone the tireless invincibility down a touch now that the worst of the company turmoil is over. People might become suspicious if you don’t start to be less than perfect.” I chew my lip in indecision; since when did I want to help Matthew with his deception? Probably since he looked at me in his office and asked about friendship in a way that echoed with loneliness, his edges rough and haggard.
“Actually, you have been looking less than perfect. Have you been charging your batteries? Do you need maintenance?” I slide into a comfortable clinical role to catalog his appearance.
“Trying to get a look at my hardware, Dr. Simpson?” Matthew gives an eyebrow wag and a smile of pure sin. My face burns in a blush, so effectively thrown from the clinical comfort zone, I wouldn’t be surprised if I had swallowed my tongue. Jesus Christ, I’d have to go to an actual doctor soon if I keep blushing this much around him.
I admit the blushing isn’t a new behavior. When Matthew and I had contact after his main program was uploaded, he always caught me blushing. It made it worse when he started trying to talk to me. He didn’t say terrible things, they were nice, too nice. I started to think he must be making fun of me, so I avoided him.
But if he wanted to be friends… maybe it hadn’t been a malicious sort of teasing.
“That is definitely not the way I want you handling my parts.”
And now my ears burn; can ears blush? Matthew gives a wicked look and he is entirely too close; the brush of his breath catches my cheek. When had he gotten so close? Suddenly, overwhelmed, I rear back.
“Fuck! Anyone tell you that you’re potent? I need some space. You, over there, now!” I point to the other side of the kitchen island. Matthew laughs in a way I haven’t heard before, light and happy, but complies with the order. My heart beats overtime, like I’m going to implode in my own kitchen, but his laugh makes me smile even as his teasing makes my body burn.
“Maybe I need you to look closer at my linguistics?” He says the word as a sensual purr, smoothly leaning over from his banished position at the island. I snort.
“Oh my god, you need to stop.” I bring my hands to my burning cheeks, but I can’t stop the laughter from breaking free. When the mirth finally dissipates, my heart feels lighter than it has in a long time and my cheeks ache. Matthew smiles at me softly, as if he had accomplished what he had wanted to.
We look at each other for a moment and I have to admit that this is nice, this comradery. Maybe we really can be friends, if I can stop myself from being infatuated. Maybe Matthew will want to taste the curry; I don’t think he’s ever tried it before. I start to get the dishes before the food gets cold as Matthew turns to take in the apartment again.
I love my apartment; it’s open and modern with high ceilings and exposed brick. The bones of the apartment are generic enough, high quality, but generic with dark wood floors and white walls I haven’t bothered to add color to.
I’ve added colors in other ways. The fluffy multicolored throw pillows and folded blankets arranged in the space might make it look haphazard to some. There are a lot. Every down swing, when it was the hardest for me to get out of bed, Sean and I would select another brightly colored item to add to our space. We’d spent many nights watching movie marathons in the dorms surrounded by a sea of pillows. At least the apartment gave me enough room to spread the collection out.
Photography prints are hung on all the walls. Would he be surprised to find out they are my work? Matthew looks at some of the small photo frames hanging up that are more sentimental than artistic.
“Is this Sean?” Matthew asks, pointing to the young man in the photo.
I flinch when he asks. It shouldn’t be that much of a surprise that he knows about Sean. The photo was taken the day we’d moved into the dorms. We both look so happy. Finally leaving behind the awfulness that high school had been. Beginning a new adventure with my best friend.