Chapter Four

It had all come crashing down when she had said she was moving out. He didn't get it. He'd tried hadn't he? He didn't come on to her…he was a good roommate, he cooked her dinner for crying out loud. But apparently the sheer chance of temptation was enough to send her running.

And he had squashed the voice in his head that was vehemently telling him to ask her if she felt the same way.

She was married. She was honorable. And there was no way in hell with her moral standards she was going to be leaving her husband for him. The rocker who rented horror movies and made her stirfry? How did that compare to the guy that was halfway across the world defending his country?

Did he want her to leave her husband for him?

He had squashed that thought too.

So he had focused on being the best roommate ever. He cleaned, he cooked, he didn't rent movies that would encourage her to spend the night on the couch with him. He gave her space. Basically, he gave her every reason he could think of to change her mind about moving out.

And when that hadn't worked he finally decided to just talk to her about it. Though it had taken two trips to get coffee and a lot of lurking around her presence that day at work to finally do it. Enough so that Abby at one point had given him a funny look that basically announced, "You ain't fooling me." He had grimaced, assuming that Neela had given Abby all the necessary dirty details. It explained the recent looks of slight pity.

The conversation with Neela didn't go well. He had heard himself talking, trying to convince her that things could go back to where they were, that he could be the best roommate ever (knowing that after two weeks he would go back to leaving towels on the bathroom floor). He hadn't said it directly, but he had been basically trying to say, "I won't make a pass at you. Pinky swear."

It was at that point he had realized how much he didn't want her to go, and how much he looked forward to seeing her at home. The thought of not having her around dismayed him more than he wanted to admit. He had just wanted her there, whatever of her he could get.

He had been in trouble.

And she was still married.

He still didn't call it love.

But she had said she was already looking for a place, and that had hurt him more than he wanted to admit. In a way he had been heartened – it meant that it wasn't just him, it meant that she had feelings, no matter how buried they were. But it had also meant that she was purposely pushing him away, and he didn't want to be held at arms length.

He had avoided the Gallants for the rest of the day, not wanting to see their happy, shiny faces.

It had been a shock at the end of the day when he heard that he and Neela had been the source of rumors. Apparently everyone else had figured out the whole situation before he had. But they had also assumed he was a piggish ass. And he had been kind of insulted. Because his co-workers had assumed the worst of him, and of her, and somehow that pissed him off.

Mostly because what they had was more than just "roommates with benefits."

But there was a little bit of him that also was mad because he hadn't slept with Neela in those initial months. And he regretted not making a move.

So he had put one last ditch effort into a peace offering – picking up a pizza on the way home. Hoping against hope that her day with the Gallants had gone poorly and she was sticking around for whatever reason. And then berating himself for hoping such a thing because he just wanted her to be happy.

But he didn't want to put words to what he was feeling. He didn't want to analyze it, and he didn't want to spend time on it. That route led only to hard realizations that couldn't see the light of day.

Unfortunately, he had gotten home to discover Neela packing her things and moving out. He had been surprised, he had thought he would have more time… Time to do what, he didn't know, but time…

He had strung together some vague comments about waiting to move out, tequila – it all flew by in a bit of a haze. She didn't think sticking around would be a good idea. He supposed she was being the rational one of the two of them. When had he become such a clingy girl?

But when he had discovered she had been sleeping in one of his shirts for at least a month, blood had rushed to his head and all he knew was that he couldn't let this woman go. A charged silence had fallen as he gave serious thought to just leaning over and kissing her. If she had slept in his shirt it meant something right? Meant that she felt some pull towards him just as he felt towards her? It had to mean something beyond her other pajamas were dirty?

To test his theory inch by inch he had started to lean forward, giving her time to pull away, giving him time to come to his senses.

But after a few seconds that felt like thousands of years, she had brushed by him and walked away, leaving him stunned, speechless, and overall completely disconcerted.

What the hell did one do in a situation like that? She was married.

Fuck.

So he had chased after her, not knowing what he would say, but knowing that she had to take at least something from their time together, something beyond her knowledge of his gross habits, DVD collection and grocery list.

So he had tried to give her the shirt. And he had confessed that he had feelings. And he had tried to make her understand that he knew that was wrong. But what could he do about it? It wasn't like he could go back in time and erase the things that had transpired between them. And frankly he didn't want to; she had upped his game and taught him that wanting a smart woman kinda rocked.

But he still hadn't told himself that he loved her. He just knew he was wrapped up in her, and that maybe space would be better for him as well, time to separate himself from the Neela Rasgotra cloud he had wrapped himself in, for better or worse.

She had refused his shirt, which he equated correctly to refusing him. Leaving him on a street corner feeling like someone had backed a truck over him, then put it in reverse and done it again. Quite prophetic that moment.

And even then he had gone back upstairs, thrown the shirt into the far corner of his closet and thoroughly proceeded to ignore it for weeks, pretending it wasn't there. Just like he had pretended to not care that the apartment felt empty, boring, dark and just depressing.