The early morning blues, ever heard of 'em?

  Aside from probably making for a kickass jazz song title, they were an occasional acquaintance of mine on my commute to work. I got up early, around seven-ish, got my things in order, and slipped into a uniform that always felt maybe a little too fashion-worthy for what is the equivalent of a professional door-to-door salesman here to consensually invade your private lives.

  Most random thoughts amounted to this, bits and pieces of trivial questions and spontaneous recollections piled together in my mind during the blur that was my transit from home to the office. I guess it makes sense, something to do with the "liminality" of it all—whatever weight that buzzword has nowadays after the internet ran it into the floor three times to next year.

  Seriously, if I hopped on that craze, I might've made a fortune or at least an army of very influenceable children.

  As I rode, many things had become so familiar that I rarely became cognizant of them. The rumble of the engine, the slight shake of my body as we went down the highway beneath the dull blue sky, the cold of the metal railings, and the condensation of morning's dew due on the windows that presented a slideshow of the barren fields covered in snow.

  I've probably taken this route hundreds of times now, and if we're talking just bus rides in general, thousands across different vehicles, roads, ages, accompaniment, and mental states.

  So it was to the point that it was pretty close to impossible to think of a single standout instance of a commute and probably equally difficult to discover a new one without me actively doing anything different, right?

  Well, this time, it felt as though I knew this ride was gonna stick with me for a while.

  Obviously, I was worried—hard not to be when your supposed promise-that-keeps-you-waking-up-in-the-morning-and-heading-to-work-even-when-the-bed-feels-so-damn-cozy-and-warm is beckoning you to finally answer it. But I was also...Nervous?

  I'm already one to toot my own horn, but I think it'd be fun reminding everyone that I'm not very doubtful of myself. If I have good reason to believe I'll do fine, I prefer not to fret over what-ifs and doubts and just go with what I know will work. That didn't make me immune to dread, though, and today, I sure as hell felt less than immune.

  I felt vulnerable.

  I was worried something would show on my face—or the good 'ol Freudian Slip would rear its ugly mug somewhere in the middle of the conversation. I was scared I'd hear something that would make my resolve waver or push me into thinking of something less than realistic and more than absurd.

  What if this was a spur-of-the-moment idea? What if they regret it? Did they go at it too soon?

  A thought would whisk my mind in one direction,

  Did they plan this? Did Keith plan this? Should they have planned it with us? How much of a plan is there to work with?

  And more would make it twist and turn somewhere else,

  What are they gonna say? What am I gonna ask? What answers do I want? What answers do I think I'll get?

  Eventually, the robotic voice of the bus would call me back to reality and alert me of my arrival. I stepped out of the vehicle, its gas brakes loud-as-can-be and acting like a little nudge to recenter my focus and begin my trek through the concrete path leading to the fortress of all things love and care. The beehive was busy as ever, even in the winter, with people coming to and fro its entrance with silken coats and perfected smiles. I did the same, feigning a similar vibe and expression as I continued to churn random musings in my head.

  If there was some solace I could comfort myself with, it was this.

  Do you know how people tend to joke about their grievances with nine-to-fives? The slog of restocking and the boredom of quiet afternoons with a manager who's just a little too enthusiastic and a salary that's a little too small for you to care? Yeah, those ones. Well, I find it kinda nice that they sometimes mention that they have this one coworker who makes things just a little more tolerable and remains a fixture in their motivations for going to work that day—as if monetary incentive wasn't enough, no? But hey, we all find our own ways to cope.

  Still, as I walked through the heavier-than-usual glass doors of aiAI, I began to wonder just how those people would feel if they had a coworker who was like ice taken human form.

  Something akin to giving a storm the ability to speak, or if you could imagine snow getting angry or frustrated, or even the cold chill that creeps down your spine and sends the hairs on your nape on end, becoming something you could call cute.

  I wonder if something like that could even make a day like this something you could look forward to, "Hey there, partner. Did I run late?" I asked the silver-crowned woman in front of me, who, even from the outside, I spotted patiently waiting on one of the lobby's many sofa chairs.

  "Not at all," She replied, a little softer in tone than usual but with the same temperature, "They're just rather early, is all."

  "I see. Alright then, let's go?" And my voice was probably no different—weighted down but at least fitting the wintry spirit.

  As long as we're not talking about fitting the Christmas vibe in specific 'cause in that case, I could be cast as the Grinch, and that's about it. That and maybe Rudolph. I can rock a red nose like the clown I am.

  We began to walk through the reception hall, past the desk and first-floor offices before awaiting the elevator when a tug on my coat prompted me to turn, "You know, if you're planning to bring a smile like that into the office room, I want you to know I can't exactly compensate for the difference in energy." Myla remarked, something between an insult and a command but with a face that seemed to be more teasing than anything. Her amber eyes glowed dully but felt warm, with a gaze that felt sharp but not painful.

  I always did like to hedge around my worries with humor, and I guess someone else managed to pick up that worthless trait of mine and put it to good use, "Don't be so sure about that. I'm sure you could manage." I answered back, leaving the tone ambiguous as to whether it was flattery or sarcasm—a common tightrope our compliments walked.

  "Oh? And what makes you so confident in saying that?"

  "Well, on one hand, it's not exactly much of a face you're trying to compensate for." I returned fire, on myself, of course, earning a bit of relief on my partner's earlier subtly concerned expression, "Plus, a smile from you is probably worth a dozen of mine." And as the elevator came down, I entered without a second thought.

  But as I faced the outside, Myla simply appeared at my side as if a ghost in motion, gaze turned away from me and presence strangely hidden, "What? Not a fan of that one?"

  "You say some of the most perplexing things sometimes, you know that?" She complained, any praise causing an allergic reaction that turned her skin red and her voice low.

  "What? You asked me, didn't you? I thought you got better at taking compliments after our last spat."

  "Well- I mean..?" I laughed her confusion off—amusement and endearment are quite the combo when it comes to treating one's nerves.

  "Listen, thanks for that." I expressed, feeling the ground raise itself and the outside world shrink as it did, "I'm feeling fine, just a little dazed but functioning."

  "Alright, if you say so, then I won't pry much more." Skeptical as she was, I guess enough trust was there to have faith I wouldn't implode, "Just say something if you need, and I'll pull you aside to keep things steady."

  Maybe I was becoming reliant on her, or maybe I was only starting to rely on her, but having that kind of reminder at my back did make me feel a little more sure of myself—and while pride and timing dictated I couldn't give her a genuine thanks, I did have something else, "You've always been the worrywart of this pairing, you know that?" I teased, looking at her with a grin that told her I was flattered to be graced by her concerns.

  She could only sigh, being able to read me perfectly, "It's because you don't worry enough."

  "See? Already compensating for me. Also, I feel like we've had this conversation before."

  "It won't be the last time either." We got off the elevator, the common area of the surveyors now in our sights.

  "I look forward to it." And before long, we stood before the door of our office. I held my hand to the doorknob, a similar action that had been done countless times now, feeling like it'd stick in my memory for years to follow and sleepless nights to come as I turned it and the unassuming atmosphere greeted my cautious eyes.

  The pair sat on our sofa, standing out amongst the monochrome corners of our abode. The olive-eyed woman donned a black sweater and a pleated miniskirt, with legs hugged by tights and air lined with a youthful exuberance that could call upon spring even in the coldest of winter days. Beside her was her other half—woolen long-sleeve of dark grays covered his upper body as a set of trousers did his lower half, spectacles neatly placed on his comely face beneath a flat cap where a few loose strands peeked.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  He's even got a few earrings on, ain't that cute?

  "And there he finally is! Don't worry me with cold feet now. No need to get nervous on our behalf, seeing as I've been shaking in my boots since yesterday." Amanda spoke with an energy that made her sound like a child on the car ride to their field trip, brimming with life and lips delicately curved on her cheeks.

  "Well, shake no more because if you get nauseous, it'll be a pain to clean up around here. Hey, did you know local furniture chains are constantly low on white fixtures? Why? Because we have them on speed dial, apparently. You could mistake one of our offices for a sensory deprivation chamber, I swear." If there was one thing I could remain confident in, it was my ability to earn a laugh and deflect negative thoughts, something that seemed to gain delight from the pair and a nervous surprise from my partner, who looked at me as if I had just torn off my face and put on a spare from my pocket.

  Which, in a way, I kind of did.

  Putting that aside, I took off my coat and hung it behind the sofa opposite our clientele, clearing the pillows to leave Myla a spot as I placed myself beside her—eyes seemingly flip-flopping between them and me as she wondered who to keep tabs on first.

  I'm happy to be an object of your concern, but let's objectify these two first, okay? Wait, that didn't come out rig-

  "Before we begin, I think there's just a little something we should do to really set the mood, right?" I cut myself off, getting things into swing. My partner glanced at me, this time not out of worry but for a signal as I winked to reply. We both readied our hands, palms facing one another before we initiated a loud clap that broke the tension in the white-stained room.

  "Congratulations on your engagement!" We synchronized our words, voices overlapping and filling the gaps that our pitch made to create a harmonious micro-symphony of celebration.

  ...Is what it would have been if we also managed to actually do it properly, "I thought I told you to pull the confetti cannon..."

  "Didn't we agree you'd do it? You were the one who hid it beneath the sofa." Myla interjected, eyes like slits and with hollow irises as her discontentment became so palpable you could taste it.

  Mmm...Tastes like strawberry and water with too much chlorine in it.

  "Nuh-uh." I denied—pulling the tube out from the furnishings and attempting and struggling to pull the cord before it exploded out into a mess of colors that gave the scene about as much levity as a mime doing a seminar for deaf kids.

  On this week's edition of politically incorrect jokes! We're taking Hellen Keller to a theatre with surround sound and 3D visuals.

  "I told you this was a horrible idea." My dear partner was ecstatic, already picking the stray bits of sparkle and color from her metallic hair.

  "And you still went along with it, so consider me pleased." And I did what I could to help, giving her a triumphant smirk and plucking some debris from the top of her head.

  "Good to see you two still get along fine," Keith answered, an unexpected cackling coming from him of all people as he recovered from his amusement with a deep breath, "I missed seeing you guys and was worried that the next time I would, this meeting was going to get on your nerves and throw you off-beat." He explained, hazel eyes agleam with a tender appreciation for our antics and aid, "But I guess my concerns were unfounded." Well, not entirely, at least for me. But, work necessitated I grin and bared it, so I did, getting the roll balling with our set first of questions.

  Ambulance call a stroke, I'm having a child.

  "So, how are you two feeling about all of this?" I asked, taking the envelopes from the table, which contained a few questionnaires we had sent them a few days prior. aiAI offered plenty of premarital services beyond just wedding planning and counseling to determine expectations, clear out any dysfunctions, and ease any fears—both reasonable and unreasonable. I combed through their answers as they got ready to speak, Myla squeezing in a bit to also take a look.

  You know you can just ask me to place it between us, right?

  I tried and failed to ignore her bodily warmth and focus on the sheet that had questions and subsequent answers that ranged from financial concerns to thoughts on family planning and religious beliefs. It was the whole package that ensured both the surveyors and the pair themselves had a complete picture of each other, with questions pertaining to their partners being compared and contrasted to see how large the overlap was.

  "The easy way out is just saying we're excited, so...Let's go with that!" Amanda remarked, mischief on her face even if it really was a good way to summarize things.

  "We've talked it over a fair amount, and our parents knew it was already on our minds, so we didn't go in completely unprepared—if that at all helps," Keith added right as we finished taking note of their answers.

  Well, not much of note aside from learning that Keith is scared of his soon-to-be father-in-law and that Amanda wants to travel the world starting with...Madagascar?

  "Alright, well, we'll have to look at this more in-depth later, so let's talk about the other stuff that's not included here." I said, placing the stacks of paper down, "So...Mind telling us how you both got to this point so quickly?" Collectively, Keith Kirby and Amanda Adler's case totaled up to around six months of dating under aiAI's care, with good reviews across the board and minimal issues aside from that one hiccup a few months ago when our introverted client became a temporary addition to our hive.

  Still, while we did watch over them quite a bit, definitely more than in other cases at least, we still couldn't peer into their every moment together, even less the minds that came up with this decision in the first place, "It's not unheard of to decide so early, but of course, it's still something we'd prefer to be elaborated upon." Myla spoke for the both of us, her focus now on our pair of concerns.

  "I guess it's not bad, to be frank," I admitted, eyeing them with a playfully doubtful look, "Are you two sure you're even ready for this kind of thing?" But one that masqueraded a genuine apprehension.

  "Well, it was definitely abrupt but not hasty." The charming young woman noted, twirling her caramel tresses around her index.

  "Those are synonyms." I protested.

  "Not according to Webster, B." And Amanda returned fire.

  Just Webster? Did the Merriams not get the memo? The semantics of semantics are semantically difficult to discuss...

  "But seriously, we do have our reasons." She began once again, this turn of face now being more tender as she held the hand of her partner—the motion so natural as if it was the only place they could be at ease, "It's not like it was all rainbows and sunshine, y'know? There wasn't really a 'spark' or whatever people like to call it, or that we immediately knew we wanted to be together. Hell, some days, I didn't know if I was nervous to meet him or if I was starting to doubt whether or not we could actually create something special." She explained with her eyes unmoving from ours, but it felt like her mind was skipping along the hallway of her memories, "But, well..."

  "I guess it was after the first few dates when it felt like time gradually started to just...Go by faster and faster, and we wanted the day to be over less and less." Keith suddenly picked up her words, a reserved but genuine tone lining his voice, "It got to the point that even after being out together all day, the first thing I'd do was send her a message, and she'd send one right back and we'd see how long we could keep a conversation going before responsibility got the better of us." It was like listening to the final member of your friend group, the one who hadn't headed home yet and found themselves talking to you about things that could only be shared between two people under the faint light of eventide. It was intimate, personal, and genuine but stung from the pit of my stomach to the core of my chest.

  "I know this'll sound stupid, but do you know that feeling of having someone on your mind and constantly finding yourself searching for them in random crowds, slim chances not a deterrent whatsoever? Hoping that maybe, just maybe, you'll run into them, and they'll get to see the cute hairstyle you picked out? It was like that, except this time, I didn't have to hope. I just had to give them a call and send them some pictures or even meet them if we had the time." And that, indeed, was the beauty of it all.

  Love is scary.

  It's to offer yourself—a being inherently self-serving and ego-driven to someone else. To be asked to be held on your coldest nights and to be pushed forward when you felt like your knees were ready to give out. But in exchange for that risk, for that sacrifice, you were granted the comfort of another—of someone else who was willing to offer themselves as well.

  "And there was that certain ambiguity in all of it. The feeling that we were starting to understand each other but still had so much to unpack and uncover, and we wanted to be there when it happened, no matter what." Amanda continued, but her words seemed to trail off a bit, losing steam until she began to grumble and hide her quickly reddening face, speaking through her palms, "So...Okay, look, this is starting to get really embarrassing, so tell us you approve already..." Charming even when she was two steps away from blowing a fuse loose out of bashfulness, there was already no doubt about the emotions they put in their earlier statements, but this felt like a quaint ribbon to tie everything up and present it with a flourish.

  Now, give me the bow so I can tie it around my neck. Have you ever seen a Bridger Pi?ata? No? Would you like to?

  The conversation resumed, Myla praising the pair as Amanda bashfully hid away in the comfort of her other half. It was a sweet sight, not yet in memory but already clouded by the haze of a scene I knew would become nostalgic in no time at all.

  But in the end, it always left an unpleasant aftertaste.

  I think there's something I wanted to make clear to myself.

  I was confident enough in my conviction, seeing that I was able to make that promise to Amanda—the promise to give her one more shot at happiness and that I was able to stick with it through my almost full year here at aiAI was my way of proving that my emotions were settled and that I could move forward with only the occasional speedbump here and there.

  But what I wasn't willing to admit was something rather simple that it tended to blend in with my thoughts and always hid in my peripheries, sneaking up on me whenever it was least convenient.

  And it was this.

  The fact I made that promise in the first place, that I've been working towards it for so long, through all my doubts and hesitations, with all the heartache my chest could carry, with all the smiles I could muster and fabricate, through all the nights I thought it would be okay to put myself first for once, all of those insecurities and actions all proved something that I had known all along.

  To some degree, I still loved Amanda.

  Sure, not to the same intensity or even the same kind of love, but what remained straining my heart were those lingering emotions that I had to make up for something I had taken from her—that I should have been better.

  And even if I was no longer her partner in finding that happiness, I sure as hell would do everything I could to steer her in the right direction.

  I still had to admit, though, it sure stung like hell.

  However, now was the time to digress and keep onward—self-introspection debates could wait, but business could not.

  Very personal business, which kinda defeats the whole label, but...

  "Alrighty! Good to know all that, then." I exclaimed with a smile, even if I actually tuned out most of what they said, the affirmation more like courtesy than anything, "I'm happy for both of you and also a little proud. Still sucks that I stole Keith's first date from you, though."

  "Ugh, don't bring it up." The young woman complained, rolling her olive eyes with quite a pout.

  "I was here first. Suck it."

  Her partner hid a laugh, trying his best to compose himself as he looked to my other half, "I forgot how petty Bridger could be."

  "Do you have an idea how little that describes him?" A smile or a sigh, I couldn't quite tell. All I knew was that she was right.

  "Alright then, with that out of the way..." I cleared the tabletop, setting down a new set of documents and folders that were to make up the real bulk of today's and the near future's workload, "Shall we get to planning this shindig?"