Author: snowyplains
Disclaimer: I don't own them, Polaroids or Post-its.
Rating: PG
I press the doorbell. "Nick?"
"Come on in. The door's unlocked." he calls. "I'm going to take a shower, so make yourself at home."
I wander in. He had brought in his car for repairs, and needed a ride to work. And since I lived the closest, I voluteered.
I looked around his living room. State of the art laptop turned on, sitting on his coffee table amidst file folders, pens, rented videos and a couple books stacked in the corner.
I open one of his textbooks, and a single photograph falls out. I pick it up, and squint at it. It's a picture of us at the last office formal. I'm laughing and my arms are around him. He looks just as happy, and I remember, slightly tipsy, being told by Warrick to pose for the camera. I turn the picture over. "Me and Sara, 2003" in a bold scrawl. And underneath, in smaller print: 'amazing when she smiles.' I read the sentence twice before I realize who he's referring to.
When it hits me, I actually drop the photograph. I never had any idea he was even aware of me outside a professional context. He had never even hinted. I pick the picture up from the floor, fingering the edges and noticing they were slightly worn. He had obviously handled the picture many times. Nonplussed, I sit down on his couch, mentally running through every major interaction I could remember we had in the last year. Had I just not noticed? Or had he really been that subtle?
There are no other pictures in the book, or in his house, except for a few Polaroids of his family on the fridge. He must have asked Warrick to give him the picture. I stare harder at it. I didn't remember being as happy as I had been in the picture for a while.
I hear the bathroom door open, indicating the end of his shower, and I hurriedly stick the picture back into his book. Burdered by this revelation, I walk down the hall, and into his room, robotically.
"Nick, I...oh hell, I'm sorry." I snapped out of it fast. He was getting dressed.
"No, its okay. What is it?" He looks at me expectantly, and I find myself looking down the the floor, steering my gaze away him, kind of embarassed to see him in boxers only.
"You...you want me to make coffee?" In college, I was known for my ability to think on my feet.
"Yeah, thanks. Coffee grounds are in the left cabinet."
I retreat with an air of purpose and occupy myself with the mundane task. I pour a cup for him as he walks out. He had always liked his coffee black. We stand in companionable silence, him downing his coffee, me, lost in my thoughts.
"I'm just going to grab my jacket and keys, okay?" he asks, putting his mug in the sink.
"Yeah, take your time." I turn on the tap and soak the mug as he walks back into his room.
Struck by a sudden surge of spontaneity, I go back into his living room, rifling through the mess on his coffee table until I locate a small Post-it notepad. "Amazing together" I scribble, knowing he'd recognize my handwriting, and stuck it lightly to the back of the photograph before replacing it carefully in his book.
He reappears in the hallway. "Ready to go?"
"Yeah." I smile, and follow him out the door.