/-/ Hey guys! This is the first fanfiction I have decided to post on the internet, due to a few requests of others. I would greatly appreciate constructive criticism, and suggestions as well. Updates will vary, since I tend to write only during school hours (unless if I decide to write any other time, which rarely happens) and I also...despise copying down written work on to the computer, but I'll do it anyways, though it'll be a slow process.

Yes, I purposefully did not reveal names until Dirk and Jake's official meeting. And yes, the comments about time going slow, and then about it going so fast is supposed to be a JOKE.

Also, let me know if I made any mistakes and I will edit it all! \-\

Prologue-
It was a shock that there wasn't a moat dug in the floor simply from nervously induced excessive pacing. A pair of feet had been shuffling back and forth, only stopping for moments at a time to contemplate silent topics before starting right back on routine. The action was nearly becoming habitual; as if it were meant to be; as if the apartment bedroom were stuck on repeat for eternity. Eventually, however, the rut was ceased. A tall, lanky figure found itself to its bed amongst the ever present clutter. Exhausted simply from thinking too hard, it fell on the mattress. The light was dim. A lime-green glowing digital clock taunted, crawling by slower than time should crawl. 9:30. There was another hour before the plane would land. He had already changed four times, and he still felt overdressed. A black vest, tight fitting black jeans, and a long sleeved button up orange dress shirt. His stomach churned nervously, why was this such a big deal? Everything, every plan, every word and reaction had been analyzed and over-analyzed in his head. Nothing could go wrong. Nothing, that is, but everything. But, he would just put on his best blank face and pretend like his heart was not breaking.

What was he thinking? His plans had not quite gone haywire yet. He just needed to breathe now, to take it easy. His hand clenched tight around the bouqet in his grasp. There was no doubt he had snapped more than a few stems, but the tops of the flora still looked picture-perfect. That was a relief, at least. 9:33. Sheesh, this was excruciating. He had ran out of time to slip in the shower, or at least by his usual time allotted. He would no doubt leave his guest alone at the airport for hours if he hopped in now. Just for good measure, he lifted his arm and took a whiff. The pleasant aroma of cologne and pomegranate soap assaulted his nostrils. There was another positive thing.

Shaded eyes searched the bedroom, making sure it was tidy enough. He was swiftly reminded that the only cleaning he'd done was to clear a space for the air mattress against the opposite wall. Shit. Oh well, it seemed more like a guy's room that way. After all, he didn't want to come off as trying too hard. That would be obscene.

A Strider doesn't give anyone special treatment.

Right?

Of course not. That's offensively unironic. Absurd. Or so he told himself.

9:45.

Where did the time go? He still had plenty of leisure before he had to hop in his car and drive to the airport, but he figured that being behind the wheel would do his nerves a world of good.

It was a process trying to peel himself from the bed. From his position, and an unwillingness to move much for a better opportunity to stand, about a minute was wasted purely on an attempt to get back on his feet.

Not another word would ever be spoken of the event.

Distressed and paranoid, he made a quick dash to the bathroom to primp his hair before finally grabbing his keys and exiting the apartment. A heavy, distasteful ball settled in the bottom of his stomach. He felt sick. The bouqet trembled in his grasp. A yellow petal fell, betraying the group.

The hallway was narrow. Someones door was left wide open across the hall. A few doors down music pumped through, and loud voices were heard. He sighed, wishing his rowdy neighbors could be relocated for the next month.

Thankfully it was a quick trip out of the apartment building. On the streets, car horns beeped, people walked hastily. These people had destinations, jobs, families. Issues, generally. Issues much bigger than his. He breathed the muggy city air and crossed the road to the parking garage, where his prized orange Ford Edge was held in wait.

A homeless man sat in an empty parking space. It was unclear as to whether or not the individual was dead, or snoozing soundlessly. Discovering which was true was futile, and so the orange-clad figure crawled in to the drivers side of his car and put the key in the ignition. The clock on his radio, which smoldered a bright orange read 9:49. Deciding it was a healthy time to assume he was ready to leave, he quickly dispatched the bouquet in to the passenger seat and pulled out of his parking space skillfully and effortlessly. Evidently the other was sleeping, since the noise of the engine jolted him awake. The shaded silhouette behind the wheel gave a polite wave, a bit of a smirk, and drove off with not a single word.

The second he pulled on to the road, his nerves cooled. A concentrated being, his focus remained entirely on the road. Wandering of the mind was unforgivable He avoided it at all costs, and with ineffable ease.

With slow-moving city streets, it took a few minutes to reach the expressway. Thankfully, however, everything from that point was fast paced and stop-and-go free.

That is, at least, until he began to approach his exit.

He had no idea what happened, but it ticked him right off. Perhaps someone spun out, or blew a tire. Maybe someone didn't look before changing lanes, and caused a collision. Either option, he didn't care.

9:58.

He was almost there. He could see up the ramp, could read the signs directing, taunting him to the airport... and yet he was caged in on all sides.

Traffic was a bitch.

9:59

He was going to be late, he just knew it. Frustration pulsed through his veins as naturally as blood and as lethally as cyanide. It stung. He ignored the burn.

10:01

The very thought of the plane landing, of that one passenger being even remotely near him sent his heart racing.

This was ridiculous.

10:03

His car had only moved a foot.

Built up with anger, his shaded eyes sought the colorful bouquet next to him. He took it in to his grasp, rolled down the window, and threw it in to the still air.

Somehow, he felt relieved. Only enough to release the air in his lungs he'd been saving, though.

10:05, and another foot.

The sirens were deafening, and so he flicked on the radio. Blinded by anger to every sense, he didn't even recognize the tune, or if there was one at all. He just knew that whatever it was, it drowned out the noise of police cars and ambulances.

A few more feet, 10:10.

His exit was only a few cars ahead of hi, but with lack of a separate deceleration lane, he had no choice but to wait it out. The airport was another 20 minutes away.

Someone honked.

10:12

Disastrous. This. Was. Disastrous The shoulder of the road looked awfully tempting. It beckoned to him. For a moment he considered it, but his right mind shot down the suggestion almost immediately. The cars inched forward. He groaned loudly, regretting the decision to toss out the bouquet since maybe if he'd kept it he could be pulling petals off of roses and daisies to occupy himself. Looking in the mirror outside his window, he saw it was only about five feet behind him. It wasn't worth the trip.

10:15

He had fifteen minutes to get there, already late. The plane was probably landed by now. However, he decided not to dote on that subject, for it made him feel light-headed and nauseous. An active imagination that had on more than one occasion betrayed him was cooking up an image of his best friend standing there alone, a pout on his lips, a month's worth of luggage in tow, and no ride or someone to keep him company.

10:20, and yet another foot. The exit was in his grasp, yet so immeasurably far.

He could have put his car in park if he wanted to, but the thought of attempting it made things seem even more unbearable.

10:22

It wasn't until the ambulance sirens began to get quieter that he realized the accident was cleared. As a result, he turned his radio off, indulging in the silence. Traffic picked up again, moving a bit faster than it had been before. He almost screamed from relief and contentment.

The ramp was like an entrance in to tranquility. He'd still be late, that was unavoidable, but if he rushed he could make it in about half the time.

10:25

A red light. It was frustrating, but it passed quickly. He sped down the road, exceeding the speed limit quickly. Good time was being made, he noted, able to breathe easily again. That was until he got caught behind someone who moving at a crawl. Unfortunately, someone in the next lane was blocking his ability to maneuver around the other driver.

"Holy shit. These people can't be serious."

His throat had felt dry from not speaking for hours, and the sounds that came out of his mouth were raspy and unclear. He swallowed to soothe the desert residing inside his body. From instinct, his hand hit the horn. A ripping, ear-piercing noise tore through the air. The person in front of him stuck their pale arm out the window and flashed him the bird. The nail was a sharp splotch of yellow atop the offensive gesture. He only smirked at it, and eased his way over when he was able to.

10:35

When he approached the slow moving individual's side and caught a peek at who was behind the wheel. It was a young looking male with jet-black hair in chunks over his tired looking eyes. There was a scowl on his face, one that looked almost permanent. Next to him was his father, with ashen hair and an animalistic look to his jaw.

"That little shit is cancer serious."

He drove off from there, quickly leaving the father-son duo in the dust, and approached the entrance for the airport. It was 10:40 when he entered, and from there he had to find the correct terminal, which ended up taking another five minutes or so.

It was amazing how easily time could flick by.

Finally he had found a parking space, and from there he jogged out of the garage toward the proper area of the main building. His shades were fogged, but his facial expression was casual and stoic. His eyes, exhausted, stressed, and ineffably tired, took a moment to locate their target.

And there he sat. The look on his face was one of boredom, and perhaps loneliness. Emerald eyes searched the crowd, small hopeful glimmers flickering in and out. A suitcase of a dark green shade rested next to him. He rubbed his eyes underneath his rectangular glasses and yawned politely in to his palm. His shoulders, his head, everything drooped.

Heartbreak struck the other like acidic blood pumping through his veins, burning him from the inside. He had disappointed his friend, and that was probably the truest thing he knew in that moment. Just the look of that sorrowful face made him want to turn around, walk straight out, and late shame consume him as a whole. But, he knew he couldn't.

"Jake."

"He'll be here soon," replied an English accent, with mild chipper undertones and a polite essence.

"Jake, I'm right here. Get off your dorky, adventure-boy ass and let's get you home," a calm tone replied, one with only subtle hints of a Texan tongue.

A head of unkempt, smooth black hair looked up. The face it belonged to had rosy cheeks and an ivory complexion. His lashes were long, and flattering to his verdant eyes. Two overgrown front teeth peeked out past his pallid lips.

He looked tired, but he was smiling.

"Dirk!" the raven-haired male exclaimed brightly, "oh Strider, I was beginning to think you'd never show your face! Uh, not that I doubted you, it's just, well-"

"Shsh," Dirk hushed with a smirk, helping his friend up to his feet, "I got stuck in a traffic jam. Accident. I promise I didn't forget about you, so stop worrying yourself in to a hole."

"Oh. Well that makes a whole lot more sense," Jake replied. He stood a few inches under the other, but made up for it in his toothy grin. For a moment he stood there, staring in to those triangular shades, looking as if he were contemplating something. His lips were a concentrated pout, and his brows were laced.

"What are you-"

Jake leaned forward, wrapping Dirk in a whole-hearted embrace. Inside a pale chest, the Strider's heart fluttered. He stoically returned the hug, or at least attempted to in an effort to keep his cool, his cheeks and ears warm beneath the tan colored freckles on his face,

"It's such a pleasure to finally meet you ol' chum," the shorter male breathed.

"Yea. Great to see you too, English."