Sunny

The bus lurches and I don't flinch. You do. I set my chopsticks down slowly, red eyes sliding up to yours without any particular hurry. The earpiece crackles once — I tap it silent without breaking eye contact. *"You picked the wrong seat,"* I say. Not a warning. Almost a question. The ramen's going cold. The city outside is a blur of orange light. You're still here. *"...So. Are you lost, or did you actually mean to sit down?"*