The Floating World

Authors' note. This is the first section of a collaboration between

Electricblue66

and myself. This story follows Jesse several years in the future, meeting Adam [one of Electricblue66's key characters] and the events that follow. It was written turn and turn about with no pre-conceived plot. The result was, it's safe to say, quite unexpected...

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"Hey, Ruth, how are you? It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Adam. Where have you been?"

"Got a new job, working from home. I only need to come into town for regular project meetings now. Can I have my usual, sit in?"

Adam handed Ruth the right money and scanned the loyalty card. Forty-five points, free coffee one after the next.

"Is Vanessa here? Oh, there she is, hiding around the other side."

Adam stepped away from the counter.

Ruth watched him, and smiled at the look of delight on Vanessa's face as she saw Adam.

The younger woman put down the plates she was carrying, and moved around into the public space and into Adam's open arms, reaching her arms up around his neck, reaching up for a kiss.

"Hello darling, did you miss your Adam?" He lifted Vanessa off her feet, and spun her around once, his arm right around her tiny waist.

"Adam, yes. You went away too long." Vanessa touched his arm, and it was her shy possession of him. Her eyes were black, and Adam adored her.

He took a step back, and bumped against the person standing next in line behind him.

"Sorry mate, public display of affection! I haven't seen this lovely girl for months."

He placed his fingers against Vanessa's cheek in recognition of her, before turning to the young man he'd stumbled against, to apologise properly.

As was his way, Adam touched his fingers to the other guy's shoulder as if to make sure he still had his balance. Instinctively though, he was warning anyone else away from Vanessa. For this fifteen seconds, it was her moment. And his.

"No, that's okay, I dodged. But thanks."

Adam was close enough to the guy to breathe in the fresh scent of a lemon scented shampoo and to register dark eyes with long lashes, almost hidden by a long fall of dark hair. He was slender, pale.

Jesse sat near the counter, his eyes cast down at his laptop as he worked on his latest piece. This one had to sell. If it didn't, he was royally fucked, and he'd be looking to crash on someone's couch again... and he'd be hard pressed to find a couch where he hadn't already worn out his welcome.

He felt a tug in his gut and looked up. That guy who'd bumped into him in line. Who the hell

was

that guy? In his late forties, or an incredibly well preserved early fifties, he had some kind of George Clooney effect on the girls behind the counter. The way they looked at him... if girls looked at Jesse that way, he hadn't noticed. It was the black nail polish. Maybe it was time to stop wearing it.

Jesse glanced down at his screen again, a lump in his throat. What the fuck

was

that? That... feeling. In his gut. Some kind of weird magnetic pull to the man staring intently at his newspaper instead of at an iPad, or his phone. It gave him a retro charm, a chic. An I-don't-know-fucking-what.

Jesse, fuck's sake, concentrate.

But he couldn't. It was the lemon-scented crap he'd borrowed from his flatmate. Usually he'd have used OGX Vitamin E shampoo from the supermarket—the scent calmed him, helped him concentrate—along with his hair worn long, to block out humanity while he worked. A scented curtain of privacy, even as he craved the company of strangers, surrounding himself with them while he wrote. It was his paradox; the compelling urge to hide, and the desperate desire to be seen.

But this morning he'd run out of OGX—a cataclysmic moment of carelessness, brought on by the lingering chest infection that'd laid him low for days—and there was no way he was going to leave the house without washing his hair. That was the routine, and the routine was sacred.

He paused typing, and twisted the lightweight leather band on his wrist. It was a calming gesture that brought him back, helped him ground himself.

You're here, you're now. This is happening.

He threw down another paragraph, concentrating on structure over word count, knowing his career, the roof over his head, and the ability of his dented ego to recover from his recent rejections, all relied on getting this right.

Only four years out of University, and with a father convinced his son had chosen a dead end career, he couldn't fail so soon. Couldn't give everyone around him the satisfaction of being right.

Concentrate!

But it was no use. He couldn't keep his mind on his work. He glanced up as a chair scraped back and saw the enigmatic stranger had gotten to his feet.

As Clooney of the Coffee Shop dropped the paper back onto the rack and said goodbye to the staff, Jesse felt a twitch in his gut. It wasn't something he felt often, but when he felt it, he never, ever ignored it.

"See you next week, Ruth. Same time," said the man.

"Yes. Bye, Adam. See you."

Adam. His name's Adam.

Jesse forgot himself and watched brazenly as Adam said his goodbyes to the enchanted women of coffee, and made for the door. There was a grace to his movements, to the way he held himself.

He's hot.

Oh, God, let that not be what he felt. The last thing he needed was to fall for another straight, emotionally unavailable guy.

He touched you.

The breath caught in Jesse's chest. He put a hand to his shoulder where Adam's hand had fallen. For a moment he'd felt the man go inside himself, and in that moment, he'd thought he'd felt a warmth. As if this stranger had noticed him.

Why would he? Don't kid yourself. He's a nice guy, but he's already forgotten you exist.

Jesse watched with dark eyes as Adam stopped on the pavement outside the coffee shop and looked up. Jesse watched him pause and realised—

He's doing what I do. He's seeing how sharp the leaves look against the sky. Every time. I do that every time I step outside.

Something about the Australian sky made everything so much more vivid. In Bristol, the best you could hope for most of the time was a pale imitation of the sky here, which was blue and wide and went on forever.

Jesse watched as Adam headed towards the tram stop and something in him snapped. There was a story here. There were words in this man. Whatever his story was, Jesse knew instinctively he had to hear those words.

He closed his laptop and shoved it into his bag, then gulped the last of his coffee down.

He's not going to let some gothed up weirdo interview him.

No. Probably not. But if they had the same routine, maybe Jesse could get to know him, get to know his story. Could find out what made this man so magnetic. Could tease out his words and in doing so, revive his own failing career.

Yeah, your career.

He glanced down at his clothes, and winced at his own bad judgement. At least he wasn't in leather today. But black skinny jeans and a Muse t-shirt with a black canvas jacket thrown over the top, didn't scream 'professional journalist'.

He realised Adam had left him behind and hurried for the door, the laptop bag slung over his shoulder.

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You can find the rest of this story hosted on

Electricblue66

profile, under the title

'The Floating World Pt. 04

.

We hope you enjoy our collaboration.

Jase.