Missed the Bus : One Shot

I forgot my pass for the bus that day. I went back to get it, but it was too late by then. I had to take the next bus, which was half an hour later than my usual one. I'd never missed my bus before. I always rode the exact same one to and from work. I was so damn pissed off that I had missed it, because my employers were a prick and a stickler, both of whom were adamant about being to work on time. It's funny how losing thirty minutes could ruin my entire day.

I was absolutely seething with fury and all but glowing with anger as I thrust my bus pass at the unfamiliar driver. “You’re a new face,” he commented, not even bothering to look at the pass I was holding out to him for confirmation that I was allowed on, “New in the neighborhood?”

“May I board?” I asked, all but growling the words as I arched an eyebrow at him demandingly.

“But of course. Welcome aboard the Love Bus, Mr. Umero Nobera,” he said, all but purring the words as he arched an eyebrow at me suggestively.

I didn’t respond or react right away, just staring at him as my eye twitched ever so slightly. Why, of all the bus drivers I had to get by missing my usual bus, did I have to have him? Was he even allowed to hit on me? There had to be some sort of rule against bus drivers trying to pick up the people they picked up. “…Thanks,” I finally forced out flatly, forcing myself to step onto the bus and climb the steps.

“My name is Cinnamon Doberman. It’s a pleasure to be your bus driver today,” he said all too happily as he shut the bus door behind me.

“Cin, man, c’mon! Stop trying to pick the dude up and start drivin’ the bus! I’m going to be totally late if you keep dawdling like this! I can‘t be late just because you want a date again!” shouted one of the passengers that had boarded before me. Judging by his words, he was a regular on this bus, and on this bus it was regular for the driver to try to pick people up.

“Alright, alright, keep your pants on,” Cinnamon said, rolling his eyes as the bus began rolling. I rolled my eyes as well, though it was at the driver and not the other passenger. Shoving my bus pass in my pocket, I went and claimed myself a seat that was as far away from the driver as was possible.

Unfortunately for me, the passengers that had boarded before me took it upon themselves to take up the back half of the bus, forcing me to sit within conversational range of the driver. “So, Umero—Do you mind if I call you that?” he said, not-so-smoothly striking up a fresh conversation.

“I couldn’t care less,” I informed him uncaringly.

“Righto, Umero. So, as I was saying, you didn’t say whether or not you’re new around these parts. My passengers are pretty much all patrons, so I know an unfamiliar face when I see one,” he said.

“That’s oxymoronic, you realize,” I pointed out, just wanting to change the subject. I didn’t particularly feel like sharing the fact that riding on his bus was basically a sign that my day was ruined.

“Even so, you still get my meaning,” he said, shooting me a smile over his shoulder.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Cin! Stop checking him out!” shouted one of the other passengers.

“Keep your nose out of my business, Clark! No backseat drivers on my bus!” Cinnamon shouted back, now shooting the passenger, Clark, a glare.

“I’m fairly sure how you’re driving the bus is the business of everyone on board,” I said. I was also fairly sure that whoever was running the universe was the one ruining my life, and that they were doing it on purpose.

“Speaking of business, what business are you in? I noticed that you have a wooden briefcase there. That’s quite unusual,” he replied. Lord, he was intent on chatting me up.

“It’s not a briefcase. It’s a portfolio protector,” I corrected him, perhaps coming across a bit snobbish.

“Oh, is that so? And what, pray tell, is the difference in a briefcase and portfolio protector?” he asked, sounding like he was trying not to laugh at me.

“Aside from being thinner in width and large in length and height than a basic briefcase, there are layers of stainless steel, watertight, and fireproof material tucked snuggly between this gorgeous, fashionable mock oak exterior and the lovely, impressive velvet lined interior,” I informed him, still sounding much like a snob.

“Uhuh. So, what, are you a briefcase designer, and that’s your patented product design or whatever?” he asked, still sounding highly amused by my snobbery.

“Actually, no. This was a gift I got for my birthday this year,” I stated flatly.

“From your girlfriend?” he asked.

“I don’t have any female friends,” I answered.

“Boyfriend, then,” he said.

“Brother, actually. I don’t have a b—” I started to say, but I cut myself short. I could see where he was going with this. He was trying to get me to say I was single, so he could ask me out. The sneaky bastard. Had that been the reason he had mentioned my “briefcase” in the first place?

“How about you let me take you out, then, and you can tell me more about yourself then?” he asked.

“I don’t date bus drivers,” I stated.

“I won’t be driving the bus on our date,” he said, purposely missing the point.

“If you drive your personal vehicle as badly as you drive this bus, I don’t want to ride with you,” I said.

“What do you mean? I’m a great driver! Even better when not driving a bus!” he exclaimed.

“You’ve passed two bus stops without stopping because you were too busy talking to me to pay attention,” I pointed out.

“Aw, crap, did I really?” he asked, looking around swiftly as though he might spot the missed stops.

“Aw, shit, you really did! I missed my stop! Goddamnit, Cin!” Clark blurted out.

“Don’t worry, dude. I’ll just let you off at the next stop and you can catch a cab,” Cinnamon said.

“If I could afford to take a cab to work every day, I wouldn’t be riding this damn bus,” Clark snapped.

“Jeez, don’t burst a blood vessel. It’s not every day, it’s just today. Anyway, I’ll give you cab fare, since it was my bad,” he replied.

“You know what, I think I’ll get off up here, too,” I stated, already standing even though we were a good block away from the next bus stop.

“Hey, Umero, don’t be that way. I’ll be sure not to miss your stop. Check that, I’ll be sure not to miss any more stops, period,” Cinnamon said. Again he was missing my point, and probably it was purposely.

“I’m not worried about you not stopping to let me off where I need to be. I’m annoyed that you won’t stop trying to pick me up,” I stated, deciding it was best to be blunt.

“Aw, c’mon,” he said. Not exactly a sound argument.

“Let up on trying to pick me up, and I’ll sit back down,” I said.

“Am I really that bad?” he asked.

“No, you’re worse,” I replied without missing a beat.

“Oh,” he said, obviously a little stunned to learn that he was that annoying. Had he really not realized he was being so bothersome? Moron. “…Oh, well, okay, I’ll let up. So just sit down,” he said even as he pulled the bus up to the curb. I heaved a sigh and rolled my eyes, reluctantly reclaiming my seat. I had kind of been hoping that he wouldn’t stop pestering me, so I could have an excuse to bail. Oh well. At least this meant I didn’t have to wait around for another bus and be even more late than I already was.



“…What on Earth are you doing here?” I asked, staring at him with a look that made it obvious I couldn’t comprehend his presence.

“Well, this is the bus stop I dropped you off at this morning on your way to work, so it’s only natural that I could expect this would be the bus stop you’d come to when your workday was finished and you were heading home,” he informed me without explaining himself even partially.

I stared at him in a sort of stupor for another moment, and then narrowed my eyes sharply as I stormed over to him. “Why are you here?” I demanded, pointing down and then gesturing around furiously.

“I came to pick you up, of course. After all, why would you sit around and wait to ride on some stinky ol’ public transportation, when you have the private transportation of my car right here and waiting for you?” he asked all too happily.

“Because I am not riding alone with some pervert I don’t know and letting him know where I live—or, worse yet, never returning home alive again,” I replied swiftly and without hesitation.

Immediately he got a pathetic, wounded little look on his face. “Aw, come on, Umero, you don’t really think I’m some sexual predator or serial killer, so you?” he asked cutely.

“I don’t care what you are or aren’t. I’m not getting in your car and leading you straight to my home,” I snapped.

“If I were really some crazy guy, don’t you think that, instead of offering you a ride, I would just wait for you to get on the bus, follow it back to the bus stop I originally picked you up at, and then stalk you home?” he asked, still wanting to convince me that he wasn’t a criminal.

And he was failing. Miserably. “Why do you sound like you’ve considered that situation already?” I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

He now got this deer caught in the headlights look briefly, then swapped it for a sheepish smile and nervous laughter. “Ah, well, actually, I was thinking earlier that I know what general area you live in just by the bus stop I picked you up at, and that I could just ask around in that area if anyone knew anyone like you. Then I got to thinking that I could just, like, look you up in the phonebook, since I know your name and all,” he admitted weakly.

I just silently stared at him now. Somehow, I wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t some crazy criminal that wanted to assault me in some form of the word. “…That didn’t help any. Um, maybe I should mention now that I got off work six hours ago, and the first thing I did after changing my clothes was come right here to wait around for you. So, uh, I’ve kind of been spending somewhere over five hours standing around, thinking about what I would do if I had missed you or you rejected my offer for a ride,” he said now, his sheepish smile dying as he cringed.

I still stared, saying nothing. Obviously I was still unconvinced about how sane and trustworthy he was. “Alright, I admit that I’m sort of off-kilter. I swear to you, though, I’m not crazy or a killer,” he said, putting his hand over his heart as he promised this to me. He seemed like he was being earnest as well as honest. Despite myself, I was starting to believe he wasn’t a murderer.

That didn’t mean I trusted him, though. “Tell me, how often do you do this—offering private rides to people that were passengers on your bus earlier that day?” I inquired, watching him closely for any signs of lying.

“I only do it every time I fall in love at first sight. So, that would make this the first time,” he said, still sounding entirely serious and sincere.

I scoffed now, setting my portfolio protector down by my side so that I could cross my arms across my chest skeptically. “Oh, please, if you’re going to lie to me, just shut up now. I may just be waiting for the bus, but you’re still wasting my time with that bullshit,” I shot, not bothering to be nice about it. I wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t piss me off if all he was going to do was lie to my face. Especially when it was such an obvious lie! He could at least have the decency to lie about something that I didn‘t already know the truth about!

“What do you mean? I’m not lying! This is really the first time!” he said, deciding to continue with his pitiful lie.

“Please, don’t! I’m not a moron, and I don’t suffer from any form of memory loss or lapses! It was pretty damn clear earlier today that you hit on your passengers all the time! I don’t doubt that you do it daily!” I snapped, narrowing my eyes at him only now.

“That wasn’t what you asked! You asked me how often I offer rides in my personal vehicle to my bus passengers!” he exclaimed, “I’ll admit, I do hit on my passengers plenty enough. But as soon as they are off that bus, I always considering them beyond my reach, and I never spare them a second thought unless they step back onto the bus again some other time. I operate myself and my bus on an out of sight, out of mind basis.”

“If that’s really true, then why didn’t you stop thinking about me as soon as I got off at this bus stop today? Why did you come back and spend over five hours thinking about nothing but me?” I demanded.

“I told you, I fell in love at first sight,” he said.

“There’s no such thing as that!” I snapped irritably. Honestly, how old was this guy, three and a half? Because only damn little kids believed in love at first sight. Well, maybe something-teen girls also believed in it. But he wasn’t a girl.

“Fine! So it was attraction at first sight! Whatever you want to call it, my feelings for you are definitely different than anything I’ve felt before! Maybe it’s not “true love” or whatever, but that doesn’t mean it’s not some form of love! Like, pre-love or something!” he exclaimed. Again, I couldn’t help but think that he sounded awfully earnest, and like he honestly believed what he was saying.

“Pre-love,” I stated, simultaneously struggling to consider that concept and to remove such a ridiculous notion from my mind.

“Yeah! Like, the stage of falling in love that comes before you’re actually in love. Where you can recognize that there’s something special about someone else, but you don’t realize yet what it is about them that attracts you so much,” he attempted to explain his thinking.

I pursed my lips thoughtfully, now fully considering the thought. “…So, what do you hope to accomplish by giving me a ride home? Finding out what it is about me that made you fall for me? Discovering if this pre-love of yours can become actual love?” I asked only after several minutes.

“Ah, yeah, I guess. Actually, though, I was more interested in finding out whether you would reciprocate my feelings or not,” he said, giving me a hopeful little smile.

Now I drew my mouth into a tight line, looking away as I again thought about his words. As it so happened, my wandering eyes caught sight of my usual bus just a block or two down the road. “…Alright. I will accept you offer,” I said, sliding my gaze back to him, “But that does not mean I accept or reciprocate your feelings. I’m still skeptical about this whole thing, but I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“R-Really?!” he asked, his smile swiftly growing as his face filled with excitement and happiness.

“Yes. However,” I stated, holding up a finger to signal that there was a catch, “I still don’t trust you enough to have you drive me right to my home. Instead, you shall be dropping me off at the bus stop you picked me up at before. Also, you will not attempt to follow me home. If I so much as suspect that you are following me, I will contact both the authorities and your superiors and register a complaint that you were harassing and stalking me.”

He laughed at that, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly now. “Ah, yeah, of course I won’t stalk you. That sort of thing was just an if all else fails plan. You’re giving me a chance, though, so you don’t have to worry about me doing anything like that,” he said as he laughed at himself.

“If you say so. Now that we better understand each other, let’s go. I have better things to do than stand around and chat with you,” I stated flatly. Bending down only enough to pick up my portfolio protector, I slid a glance his way from the corner of my eyes. As he thought I wasn’t looking, he took a quick moment to pump his fist in the air and jump for joy. I didn’t doubt that the only thought in his head was “Score!”, or something similarly stupid.

“Allow me to open the door for you,” he chirped as I straightened up and strode over.

“Thank you,” I said solely for the sake of being polite. If it wasn’t proper to thank him, I’d likely have just shoved the door open wider to shove him back into the car and then smacked his hand off of the door so I could slam it shut for myself. As it were, after thanking him I simply climbed into the car, buckled up, and tried to pretend to myself that I was just catching a ride home with a co-worker who had been as late to leave as I always was.

Unfortunately for me, this little delusion of mine only lasted up until Cinnamon got into the vehicle as well. “So, Umero, you never did tell me what you do for a living,” he said lightly, trying to revive the conversation that had died on the bus this morning.

“I’m a consultant, designer, and planner for TwoTone Inc. Or, more accurately, I’m a go-between for the CapsTone and CopesTone corporations, because the bastard brothers that run them refuse to peacefully merge their respective companies, as their father ordered that they do in his Last Will and Testament,” I informed him. It wasn’t that I was feeling less averse to giving him further personal information about me than I had this morning, of course. I was just too worn out from a hard day’s work to have the capability to effectively avoid conversation, so it was just less of a hassle for me to actually answer him.

“Wow. I have no idea what a job like that requires, but it sure sounds impressive and tiresome,” he responded. I’d have thought he was mocking me if he didn’t sound like he really was amazed and impressed.

“It requires an unending amount of patience and an everlasting prescription of painkillers,” I muttered darkly.

“You know, it doesn’t sound like you like your job very much,” he noted. As though I hadn’t noticed that for myself.

“I love my job. I just hate my employers,” I stated flatly.

“That’s not good, you know,” he said, “I mean, it’s great that you love your job, but you can’t enjoy your work if you hate your employers. If you can’t enjoy your work, you are less efficient. If you are less efficient, you are more likely to be fired. If you are fired, then you might end up having to take up a job you don’t like. If you don’t like your job, you definitely can’t enjoy your work. If you can’t enjoy your work after all of that, you are even less efficient. If you are even less efficient, you are even more likely to be fired. If you—”

“Alright! Christ! I get it already!” I blurted out, rather rudely interrupting him. I had to do it, though. He would have just kept going in one long circle, slowly spiraling down to whatever pitiful point he was trying to make.

He cringed briefly, then smiled weakly. “Ah, sorry. I was rambling, huh? I kind of tend to do that when I’m in a vehicle with only one other person. I guess I get kind of nervous with an entirely one-on-one situation. It’s a bit of a bad habit of mine. I can’t really help it, though. Or, rather, the only way I can help it is to avoid it. That’s actually why I decided to become a bus driver. It allows me to have the same enclosed conversations one gets in a normal vehicle, only without my odd rambling getting in the way,” he said.

As it seemed like he was going to go on and on, I again had to interrupt. “I notice it took you a couple of moments for your rambling habit to kick in,” I interjected.

“Ah, that was only because I was specifically working hard not to ramble. I can sometimes keep from rambling if I never get started. Once I get started, though, it’s a lot harder to stop myself from doing it. It’s actually a bit problematic, because if I focus too hard on keeping from rambling, I can’t focus so much on my driving and it might get dangerous. So, I’d like to apologize for all of my rambling now, but I really don’t want to compromise my driving skills when you’re in the car. Especially since I told you I’m a good driver. Don’t get me wrong! I am a good driver! It’s just, like I said, I—” he said, again seeming like he was never going to stop speaking.

“For the love of God, if you can’t handle driving without rambling, shut up. Did I not make it clear before that I have a humungous headache? You talking on and on is not helping my headache or helping me hate you any less,” I said with a groan of annoyance.

Again he cringed, but this time the cringe didn’t leave so quickly. This was mostly due to the fact that he couldn’t manage even a weak smile this time around. “…Sorry,” he mumbled after several minutes of silence.

I didn’t say anything in reply right away, having to bite back a sigh and fight to keep from rolling my eyes. Damn it all. Despite myself, I couldn’t help but feel bad now. Even if I had a headache and his rambling was doing nothing to ease it, it wasn’t his fault that I had the headache. It had been wrong of me to snap at him, and downright mean of me to say I hated him. While he was an annoyance, he hadn’t done anything bad enough for me to hate him. “…Yeah, me, too,” I mumbled after several minutes of mentally berating myself.

Neither of us said anything more, until we pulled up to the bus stop where I had first boarded his bus and made his acquaintance earlier that day. Even then there was nothing said immediately. We both just sat there, me staring out my window at the empty bus stop and him staring at his hands on the steering wheel, both of us feeling rather like a jackass. “…Elmer and Elm,” I finally said softly, my gaze falling to my own hands in my lap.

“…What?” he asked, his eyes daring to turn to me only out of confusion and curiosity.

“…My apartment complex. It’s up the street about a block, where Elmer Street meets Elm Avenue,” I said.

“…Oh. That…That’s a nice spot. Sort of lower upper class, yeah?” he said, seeming not to have gotten the point behind my telling him my address.

“More like upper middle class. Lower upper class apartments are still out of my price range, as long as my employers continue keeping their companies separate, sabotaging their own and each other’s productivity and activity,” I said.

“Oh… That… Why did you tell me that?” he asked, still not getting the point. What the Hell? He spent so much energy trying to get me to allow him a bit more personal information, and now that I did, he didn’t even know what to do with it! He definitely wasn’t a criminal. He was too much of a moron to successfully commit any crime. And, if he was a criminal, he certainly was no criminal mastermind. He was a criminal dunderhead.

“If you don’t want to drive me home anymore, then just say so,” I snapped, unbuckling my seatbelt with as much anger as I could muster up and give off. It was really hard to seem extremely angry when the motions you were going through were so very…placid.

However, despite his obvious obliviousness, he managed to catch the meaning of my motion. “I didn’t say so because I wouldn’t say so! I mean, I would be most honored to drive you home!” he exclaimed as he swiftly grabbed my seatbelt and buckled it right back up. I gave off a little humph and stuck my nose in the air, but I didn’t say anything in complaint or make any other motions to exit the vehicle. Seeing that I seemed like I would still allow him to take me home, he gave off a relieved little sigh and pulled away from the curb.

I watched him from the corner of my eyes now, noting that he seemed a little bit more relaxed. Perhaps me being a bit more personable and allowing him to be a bit more personal made him less nervous. Best to test. “Where do you live?” I asked. I aimed my gaze out my window just before speaking, not wanting him to see that I had been watching him.

“Me? Oh, well, I live off of Your Street,” he said, sliding a look over to me.

I was quite quick to turn my gaze back to him, giving him a look both perplexed and perturbed. “My street?” I asked.

“No. Not your street, the street you live on, but Your Street, that confusingly named street in the suburbs,” he said, grinning at me.

“….Oh. I don’t know that street. I’ve never been to the suburbs,” I said, swiftly looking away again now as a small bit of embarrassment came to my face.

“Really now? Well, then, you should definitely come by some time. We have a lot of streets lovingly named to be confusing,” he said, laughing softly now.

“Such as?” I prompted when he didn’t ramble on, on his own.

“Well, along with Your Street there are similar streets like My Street, Mine Road, Her Road, His Street, That Street, This Street, Their Street, See Street, C Street, Some Street—ah, well, I could go on, but then I would be rambling. Basically put, though, somebody on the city council has too much time on their hands, planning and picking out street names like that,” he laughed.

“…Suddenly, I find myself appreciating the numbered streets of downtown much, much more,” I said.

“Seriously. It makes me glad that there aren’t any bus stops anywhere near my neighborhood. I would pity any poor soul that would have that area on their route. I already feel terrible for the mailmen and garbagemen,” he said, shaking his head to himself even as he still laughed lightly.

“Speaking of stops, you can stop right up here. That’s my complex right there,” I said, pointing out to him first a parking space and then the building it was positioned in front of.

“You don’t have to point it out. I’ve got eyes,“ he said.

“I feared that you had gotten as distracted by conversation as you were this morning and that you would pass it,“ I said simply.

“I was paying perfect attention just now, thank you. Besides, this car is a lot easier to turn around than that bus, and I don’t have a schedule to stick to right now,“ he said. Rather than pulling up in the empty parking spot in front of the building, he had opted for pulling into and parking in the slim strip of a parking lot beside the building.

“What are you doing?” I asked, watching uncertainly as he turn off the car and unbuckled his seatbelt.

“I deliver my passengers directly and precisely to their destination. You told me to take you home, so I am taking you home,” he said, pocketing his keys as he got out of the vehicle.

“Need I mention this morning’s events yet again?” I asked.

“That was a fluke, and it was your fault for being so damned attracting and distracting,” he said. With that he shut the door, leaving me to silently watch as he came around the car.

The instant he opened my door for me, though, I resumed the paused conversation. “I believe we already agreed that you were the one at fault this morning, seeing as you were being persistent in trying to pick me up when I clearly had no interest in a pervert such as yourself,” I stated swiftly and matter-of-factly.

“We didn’t agree on anything. You threatened to get off the bus, so I gave in and gave up for the time being,” he said, reaching across my lap to unbuckle my seatbelt for me.

“I don’t need you to walk me to my apartment,” I stated flatly

“Walk you? I’m going to carry you,” he said, a grin breaking out of his face.

“You are completely crazy,” I stated still flatly.

“That I am. Now, would you prefer a princess carry or a fireman’s carry?” he asked.

“What’s a princess carry?” I inquired. Perhaps I was losing just a smidgen of my sanity from spending time with a crazy person, but being carried by him didn’t sound too very awful. I was very tired after a long, hard day of work, you know…

“It’s basically bridal style, minus the part where, after carrying you over the threshold, I throw you into bed, strip you naked, and ravish you,” he informed me. It was beyond me how he managed to say that with a straight face. I could hardly keep my composure just from hearing him say that.

“Ah… Princess style sounds….appropriate,” I said weakly, suddenly not so sure if allowing a lunatic to carry me up to my apartment was wise. He didn’t hesitate to pull me out of the car and into his arms, managing to snag my portfolio protector with his fingers as he hauled me into the air. Now I was positive allowing a lunatic to carry me up to my apartment was not only not wise, but actually extremely foolhardy. “Alrighty. That was fun. You can put me down now,” I said all too quickly.

“Don’t squirm, okay? I don’t want to drop you,” he said, pretty much ignoring me as he used his knee to simultaneously balance me and close the car door.

“If you drop me, I will sue you. And maybe press charges,” I said, obviously not maintaining my composure. He just laughed, carefully carrying me away from the car and towards the building now. Seeing as he seemed like he really was going to carry me, I could only cling to him as I mentally vowed to never again be late for my morning bus.

“Elevator or stairs?” he asked once we were inside.

“Will you set me down if I say elevator once we are in said elevator?” I asked hopefully.

“No,” he replied shortly.

“In that case, I’m going to pick the stairs, just to make this more difficult,” I stated flatly.

“Fine by me. The longer it takes to get to your apartment, the longer I get to hold you,” he chirped as he made for the stairs.

Damnit. I hadn’t thought of that. “Is it too late to change my mind?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied with a smirk.

“Humph. Fine. Fifth floor,” I said, sighing to myself as I resigned myself to my fate.

“Five is my lucky number, you know,” he said as he started up the stairs.

“You aren’t getting lucky, if that’s what you’re hinting at,” I grunted.

“I know that. This is a princess carry, not a bridal carry. I was just stating a fact,” he said lightly.

“What proof have you that five is your lucky number?” I inquired, arching an eyebrow at him now.

“It’s the fifth of the month. I picked you up at my fifth stop this morning. I picked you up again after waiting around five hours for you. Your apartment is on the fifth floor. Five is totally my lucky number; at least for today,” he stated simply, smiling at me. Unable to find a fitting response, I just looked away, feeling oddly bashful all of the sudden. I was almost positive I was blushing, if only so very slightly and softly. Strange.

We reached the fifth floor before long, and I fished my keys out of my pocket, flashing the apartment number on the key to him. He nodded his head, heading for my door. Once it was within reach, I reached out and put my key in the lock…but I didn’t unlock the door. I paused, staring at the key in the lock as though I had no idea what to do with it now. “…Do you need me to unlock it, Umero?” Cinnamon asked uncertainly, unaware as to what had made me pause.

I shook my head softly, fidgeting and fiddling with the key in the lock as I thought. “…Is it too late to change my mind?” I finally asked, speaking very softly.

“Huh? About what?” he asked with confusion.

“About…how I want you to carry me. I think bridal style might be more suitable, even if it is more inappropriate,” I said. I was now quite positive that I blushing, and quite strongly.

“…Have you gone mad?” he asked after a moment of stunned silence.

“If you don’t want to sleep with me anymore, then just say so,” I snapped, suddenly shoving on his chest and squirming as I tried to get him to set me down.

He was swift to tighten his grip, struggling with me to keep me from struggling with him. “I didn’t say so because I wouldn’t say so! I mean, I would be most honored to…uh…um…you know,” he said, not managing to be so smooth this time around.

I stopped struggling only after he spoke, sighing with annoyance. “I don’t think I want to “you know” with you anymore. You spoiled the moment. You ruined the mood. You suck at this,” I stated flatly.

“S-Sorry,” he stuttered with a cringe, not sure what else he could say to that.

I studied his cringing, anguished expression for a moment, then rolled my eyes at him as an excuse to look away before I spoke again. “…You had better be a lot better at driving me crazy in the good way than you are at driving me crazy in the bad way, otherwise there is no way I am going to let you sleep in my bed after we’re done sleeping together,” I said in the most annoyed manner I could manage. With that, I finally unlocked the door, even being so kind as to open it for him as well.

While he was quite shocked that I was giving him yet another chance, he didn’t hesitate to swiftly step into my apartment for the first time. “Wow. It only took me five screw ups before you basically agreed to be my bride-to-be. Five really is my lucky number,” he said only once he had kicked the door closed behind himself, “Now, which way is my beautiful bride’s bedroom?” I didn’t answer, being far too embarrassed to respond. He just laughed to himself, setting off in the most likely direction of my bedroom.

I had forgotten my pass for the bus that day. I went back to get it, but it was too late by then. I’d had to take the next bus, which was half an hour later than my usual one. I'd never missed my bus before. I always rode the exact same one to and from work. ...I'm glad I missed the bus that day, though, because it allowed me to meet him. It's funny how losing thirty minutes changed my life. It makes me wonder what would have happened if I had lost an hour.