It was Thursday again. Calli found herself brimming with an unrestrained excitement. Imogen had taken notice.

"You're glowing," she had said. And Calli chuckled shyly brushing it away. She was always a bundle of positivity. It's not like this was out of the ordinary for her: this attitude. She'd always been a compact package of boundless optimism and eagerness. But, maybe, there was just a hint of an extra kick in her step; the faint whisper of excitement that was even more so than what was routine.

She crossed off each address from her list, completing deliveries as quick as she could manage, and maybe not as careful as she should have. She was a kid, at the end of things. Nineteen or so. But, while a year above the age of majority, that was nothing. She was still young, stupid, and no small bit hormonal.

She'd finished her last delivery, making a hasty retreat to scramble to the roof and leap across the tops of buildings. She darted the final distance to the woman's door and threw it open with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. Jasmine, who was on the couch with a book in her hands, inhaled sharply and hurled that book at Calli. It pinned her directly in the nose, and she cursed.

Her cap flew off her head and onto the ground as she grasped her face and threw a handful of additional foul words. Jasmine slapped a hand over her mouth. Then she took the hand away.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!"

"S'fine," Calli slurred. She stood up, pulled her scarf down, checked for blood, and when there wasn't any, pulled it back up. "Just lucky you weren't reading a hardcover."

Calli leaned down and picked up the book from the floor. It was thick enough. She looked at the cover. There was no illustration: just embossed, golden letters reading the title, "She Was Made From The Sun."

"Never heard of this one," Calli said mindlessly.

"Do you read?" Jasmine asked, not rudely. Genuinely curious. Maybe a little hopeful.

"Not really," Calli chuckled out in admittance. Jasmine had come up to her now, and she handed the book back to her. The blonde pulled it tightly to her chest, but not hurriedly, grasping it with both hands. She wasn't as elegant this time around, Calli noticed. That's to say, the lace she'd had before was substituted for a rather long, white tee. Whether there was anything on her bottom was a question that Calli hated she thought of.

Jasmine gave the flustered courier a coy smile. "My delivery?" she said.

"Oh!" Calli chirped, "Right." She fumbled around. "Here."

Jasmine took it, with a purposeful, lingering motion.

"Thanks," she hushed.

"You don't have to..."

"Don't have to what?" Jasmine asked.

"Thank me," Calli answered.

"But I want to," she said with a smile. And Calli felt her face heating up yet again. It already had been, granted. But it was even warmer, now.

"I don't get to argue with that, huh?" She forced out. The words felt heavy and cumbersome. Not because of their nature. Or their meaning. Any words she could have found would have felt equally as heavy.

Jasmine shot a smug smirk that Calli found painfully charming.

"No," she said, "You don't."

Calli huffed in humor, and there was a silence as the two tensely eyed each other. The intensity of it all forced Calli to swallow.

"... I have to go," she said. Jasmine nodded.

"I know."

Calli smiled. But she couldn't see it under her gaiter.

"See you next week," she said.

"I'm counting on it," Jasmine spoke softly. She ended with a tentative wink, and Calli felt her chest swell.

She cleared her throat, awkwardly, and began taking those steps backward. "Bye," she said. And she opened the door, and shut it behind her, hurrying off.

"Bye," Jasmine said to the empty air in front of her.

. . . .

That following night, Calli was poking idly at her rations in the courier lounge. A literal pile of grey slop. Granted, it was unappetizing. But she usually attempted some of it.

She hadn't noticed Imogen come to sit across from her at the same steel table.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Cal?"

The young woman made an odd sort of squeak, flicking her chin up to make eye contact. She swallowed. Then cleared her throat. Then swallowed again.

"U-um, hi..." She grinned, awkwardly. Imogen smirked back at her.

"Hello," she said. Then she frowned. "There seems to be something on your mind recently, Bright-Eyes. You're somewhere else after every shift. And you're somewhere else... well, every other time as well."

"Nothing's wrong," Calli answered, perhaps too quickly.

"I didn't say I thought there was," Imogen said. She poked at her own meal. "I just said it seemed like there was something on your mind."

"... Well..." Calli shuffled awkwardly. "Maybe there is..." She didn't notice the heat in her cheeks. She just gave her tray a hard stare.

She didn't notice the heat in her cheeks...

But Imogen did.

"It's a girl, isn't it?" she said with a smirk. Calli regretted choosing that moment to try a bite.

She coughed and sputtered. "How did you know!?" She slapped her hands over her mouth like she had said some obscenity. Imogen cackled at her.

"I didn't," she said through her laughter, "Just a hunch. But, I definitely do now."

Calli groaned, pushing her tray out of the way to make room for her crossed arms on the table in front of her, before plowing her face into them. "What do I do..." she whined. Imogen shrugged.

"Admittedly," she said, "dating one of your clients isn't the height of professionalism."

"I know!" Calli cried. "I know..." She sighed. "I just... How am I supposed to get over it."

Imogen shrugged. "Well, you could always have your route reassigned..."

At that, her head shot out of her hands. "Not that," she shot abruptly.

Imogen smirked. Calli glared.

"I'm glad my suffering amuses you," she deadpanned.

"It really kind of does."

Calli harmlessly tossed her plastic spork at the older woman who caught it with uncanny ease, tossing it back at her and laughing. Calli was, to her chagrin, not blessed with like skill. The utensil collided right into her face, and clattered onto the table. She snatched it, and pointed it at the other woman. "You're such a jerk!" she chided.

Imogen cackled.

"Maybe," she said. Then she fell more serious. "So... What do you want to do about it?"

Calli froze, her eyes darting desperately about for a minute. Shortly, she deflated in her seat. "I don't know." She gave a pathetic sort of chuckle. "That's why I'm asking you."

Imogen shrugged. "Okay," she said, nodding, "Say if she wasn't your client. Say if she was just some random girl you bumped into in the middle of the street. Then what would you want to do?"

Calli blushed. She stared at the table and fiddled with the spork still in her hands. "... I don't know."

Imogen gave an uncertain nod. "Well. Sounds like you got a few things to think about then."

Calli gave a rare, weak smile, uncharacteristic of her.

"Yeah, I, uh... I guess so..."

A couple weeks later.

"What kind of books do you like?"

Calli noticed the questions seemed to catch the blue-eyed woman off guard.

She blinked. Then she blinked again.

"Oh!" She chuckled. "Um... I'm kind of pretentious. I like stories that mean something... Or that represent something... That stuff's rare to find these days, though. There's an old antique store in the Brighton shopping district... That's where I get most of my stuff." She gave a pensive totter of her head. "But," she said, "Cheesy romance isn't my least favorite thing either." She shot a bashful smile. "I kinda love it."

Deep, mind-boggling dripe and meet-cutes.

Understood.

Calli shook her head chuckling. Then she smiled. "Got it."

Fumble. Package. Give.

Jasmine took the package routinely. And she smiled.

"Calli?" she said.

"Hm?"

"When are you free?"

The darker-skinned girl blanched: the closest she'd ever be to Jasmine in paleness. "I-I'm sorry?"

"Oh, sh-shit," Jasmine chuckled. She scratched the back of her head. "Sorry. I didn't–Must've read the signals wrong... Forget I said anything."

Calli paled even more, if at all possible. "No!" She hurriedly shot. Jasmine lurched back a fraction and Calli realized just how much she had raised her voice. She stuttered, "N–no, no... It's not–" She cleared her throat. "Are you... Are you asking me out?"

"Maybe," Jasmine answered with a coy grin.

"Maybe," Calli says. She wasn't sheet-shaded anymore. She was richly dark again, her face flushed with blood. "Wow..." Jasmine laughed at her. Not cruelly. Just clearly humored.

"You're ridiculous," she chuckled. "But... when are you free?"

Her words were thoroughly annunciated. Spelled out. Calli swallowed.

"I mean... not very long, honestly," she said, "Usually just a handful of hours a day."

"Then, when's that?" Jasmine smiled, softly.

Calli froze a bit before finally saying, "About 5pm to 11."

"Some handful!" Jasmine laughed again. "Then... maybe sometime in there?"

"... I mean... What would we even do?" Calli asked with a sad chuckle. Jasmine frowned. Then she smiled.

"You can come over," she said, "I'll cook for you."

Dark-cheeked again, Calli coughed. "Cook for me?"

"Yeah." Jasmine shrugged. "I'm pretty decent. I'll pick some stuff up from work—I work at a grocer. And I'll ask my boss to give me a morning shift."

Calli gave a stiff nod. Then, lucidity hit. And she shook her head.

"I—I can't come here. That's..." She sighed. "That's really dangerous, Jasmine."

"Why so?" She chuckles back, before continuing, "Nobody knows I'm trans. Nobody knows you're with the Underground. Come by, look casual... Easy."

Calli was silent for a moment. Then she gave a sort of half scoff as she shook her head. "Why do you have to make that sound so..."

"So what?" Jasmine shot back slyly.

"Enticing."

"Oh? Is it enticing?" She teased. Then she giggled. Calli pulled her cap over her face.

"... A bit."

"So then, I take it I'll be seeing you?"

"...Mm..." A stiff nod.

"How's Sunday sound? Two days; plenty of time for me to get my schedule changed. You come over here and we can... hang out?"

Calli became painfully aware of just how much closer the slightly shorter girl had now come to her. She was inches from pressing up right against her. Calli swallowed a lump in her throat and stumbled out, "Yeah. S–sure. Hang out..."

Jasmine giggled again and God that sound. Enticing. It really was the perfect word. It described everything little thing she ever did or said when she saw her.

Enticing.

"Then I'll see you then, delivery-girl," she said, giving a cheeky tug of the courier's cap. Calli chuckled as she readjusted it. Then her face fell to mild panic as she quickly pulled away, checking her watch.

'1:05.'

She was late.

Shit.

"I have to go," Calli said frantically, stumbling backward and tossing open the door. "See you Sunday!" She shouted behind her, slamming the door before Jasmine could get a word in. Her mouth closed, and she smirked after her, shaking her head.

"Idiot."