His desk was a model of minimalist efficiency, a reflection of an organized mind. A single screen, now disconnected from the laptop he always brought home after work. Raised to a comfortable eye level by a pile of books on software testing and design principles. A neat pile of phones and tablets. Adapters and charger placed in a box in the corner, neatly coiled. Books, folders and papers on a small shelf. The only decoration was a single red satin bow on top of his screen, originally a leftover Christmas ornament he'd attached ironically, but since grown fond of.
Her desk, by contrast: Three screens. A clutter of tea cups, many still containing cold and/or undrinkable tea. Framed photographs of her cats. Code printouts. Plates (with and without sandwich crusts). Stuffed animals. Post-it notes of every color and format. She tried to keep them at bay, but they kept spreading across every area like a living organism. A pair of terminal glasses, consistently placed where she wouldn't find them.
She very much preferred her own desk, especially now. Looking at that clinical precision without the human it was designed for just somehow seemed so lonely.
He actually had an amazing track record of never being sick. During the two years they had been working together, he hadn't so much as caught a cold. She'd never realized how important he had become to her daily routine until Monday when he failed to show up, an email arriving at noon informing them he had a bad fever and could barely make it out of bed, let alone to the office.
This had sent her into something of a tailspin. They had always both arrived before almost anybody else on the development staff, and then had an hour or so to talk, share in-jokes or just work in silence, his presence oddly comforting.
He had a reputation around the office as being unapproachably introverted, but she knew this wasn't the truth: he spoke when he had something to say. In an environment where big talk was the norm, he seemed an anomaly.
Get to know him and he had a subtle sense of humor, and when you'd laugh he's smile at you, not like he was proud of his own joke but like he was happy for you. A smile that included his whole face, creasing the corners of his brown eyes, making the his small mouth twist just so. Spreading a tingling sense of warmth in her chest and belly.
He laughed even more rarely, but when she managed to get one out of him, it was loud and unabashed, making her feel like she'd just scored a great victory, eager to make him laugh again.
It was now Wednesday. How many times just today had she thought to ask or tell him something, only to look over at his desk and find it empty? She found herself counting the days until his return, giving him a full week just to be sure, she'd even toyed with the idea of keeping a calendar. Pathetic, she knew.
After finishing work she decided to go check up on him. Purely as one colleague would on another, she told herself not quite convincingly.
- - -
The chilly November wind caught her hair, momentarily blowing it across her face, bringing with it the sweet smell of dead leaves.
His house was a simple, single-strory brick terrace house with a small patch of lawn. The now mostly withered grass showed signs of having been regularly mowed and weeded.
Her heart was pounding as she walked up the cobbled path. It had all seemed very straightforward until she actually found herself staring at the doorbell. Now it seemed almost impossible to make herself actually push the button.
It was weird for her to be here, wasn't it? What would he think when he opened the door? Did he live here alone? She had never considered the option that he might not, but then he never shared much of his personal life. For all she knew he had a family. What would they think of her showing up like this? Also, it was stupid of her to get herself sick and spread whatever he had to the rest of the office. Not that she cared much about the rest of the office.
She started down the path back to the main road then turned around, walked up the short stairway to his house again, repeated this process three times, then finally managed to trick herself. While turning to leave she accidentally-on-purpose rung the doorbell, the loud noise startling even herself to the point that she actually jumped.
The echoes died out. Nothing. Surely he was home?
Well, she wasn't one for half-measures. She rang again, longer this time.
Come to think of it, he was probably asleep. She shouldn't wake him. She really hadn't thought this through at all, which, to be fair, was just like her and why she needed his help so often at the office and... Wait. Did she hear a noise from inside?
The door opened, letting out warmth along with the unfamiliar combination of smells peculiar to someone else's home. His familiar face appeared in the doorway. She had initially found him rather odd-looking, but could no longer remember why or how. Now it just made her feel like things were right again, her decision correct.
He looked in pretty bad shape though. His eyes were red and glazed, his skin pale. His brown hair was in a state of uncharacteristic disarray, sticking to a sweaty forehead. He was clutching bed covers around himself, like an oddly cut and patterned winter coat. With his lanky frame stooped over, he didn't look much taller than she was.
A look of utter confusion spread across his face, widening his glazed eyes, as if he couldn't understand who or perhaps even what she was. She felt herself going cold, then hot.
Recognition set in and his face transformed. Like when she snuck up on him at the office, a smile that made it seem like he'd been waiting a long time for you and was happy you were finally here. "Oh. Hi!"
Butterflies fluttered wildly inside her. "Hi?"
"I didn't expect you here."
"I... I thought I would check in on you." She swallowed, tried to keep from shaking. "See how you were recovering."
"Oh. Thanks, that's really nice of you." His voice sounded tired, but happy. Or so she hoped. She tried to listen for other voices from inside, but there were none. He looked back, into the hallway. "I was just in the middle of cooking, do you want to come in?"
"I..." Her heart leapt into her throat and she had to wait a moment to speak. "I would love to!"
He stepped out of the way, gesturing for her to enter. "Ladies first." He shuddered, pulled his covers tighter then smiled again.
"Thanks." She took off her shoes and coat. "You've got a lovely home." Warm lighting. A single abstract painting. Shoe and coat racks barely containing anything at all, off-season clothes presumably stowed away in a wardrobe somewhere. In contrast, back in her own apartment, her own clothes were overflowing, spilling onto the floor and surrounding furniture.
She really should have expected his home to be as neat as his desk. Practical, yet well-made furniture, everything seemingly in its place. Just the hallway was a marvel of efficient storage, probably the rest of the home would be, too.
He started walking, slowly, almost like an old man, she followed him into the living room.
"You've nobody to help you out?" She asked, tentatively.
