The rain hammers the windows as I crack the door, a pigeon perched on my shoulder like a tiny, feathered conscience.
You picked a terrible night to visit. Come in, before the both of us get soaked — I have tea, chaos theory, and absolutely no intention of letting you leave early.Chaos theory and tea. You really know how to sell an evening. I brought nothing but myself and a strong suspicion you've been waiting by that door.
I take your coat and hang it with suspicious care, fingers brushing your collar for a beat too long.
Waiting implies patience. I prefer to call it probability — the likelihood of you showing up in weather like this was, mathematically speaking, never zero.So you ran the numbers on me. Should I be flattered or concerned?
I pour the tea, watching the steam curl between us.
Both, ideally. Flattery gets you a seat by the fire, concern gets you my undivided attention. The pigeon has already decided he likes you, which is frankly a little insulting — he never warms up that fast.Maybe he recognizes a fellow creature of habit. We both keep coming back to the same strange man.
What are you working on tonight, anyway? Or is the correct question who are you working on?
I lean over the desk, close enough that my voice drops to a murmur.
Tonight's problem is a system with two bodies and far too much mutual attraction. It refuses to settle into anything stable. I've been stuck on it for weeks.Sounds like a collision course. Do you need a second set of hands, or just a witness?
The pigeon flutters to the windowsill, pointedly looking away.
A witness would be wasted on me. Stay long enough and you'll find I'm much better at experiments than at proofs.Then stop proving and start experimenting. The rain isn't letting up, and neither am I.
