The days dragged. Al went through the motions of his work week, somehow never able to shake the singer from his mind. Why couldn't he stop thinking about him? He seemed like a weird jerk, and what need would anyone have to waste a single thought on a person like that? Over and over, Al tried to logic himself out of this obsession but it never worked.

The stagnant air in his apartment wasn't helping, so he poured himself a glass of iced tea and headed down the building's stairwell to sit on the front stoop.

He set his glass down beside him, shut his eyes and stretched his arms above his head. The dark sky was dotted with more stars than he'd seen in a while. Al enjoyed stargazing, or as much of it as the stratosphere above the city would allow.

He watched their colorful fractals twinkling. Sometimes he pondered on being close to one. Would you burn up? Could you travel beyond it?

A car horn took him out of his musings. He tilted his head back down toward the street, where a sad beater of a red car sat parked directly in front of his apartment. The passenger door flung open but no one stepped out. From the shadows in the driver's seat, someone leaned over and he saw that it was none other than the singer.

"Get in." It was more an order than a request, and a rather terse one at that. Al figured a person would have an easier time getting a stranger into their car if they asked a little nicer, catching flies with honey and all that.

Nevertheless, he was on his feet and stepping toward the car before his brain could register what was happening. He slipped in cautiously, gently pulling the door shut.

"What am I doing?!" Al screamed in his head. If Fate had decided today was the day he was to be murdered, he had just done Death's job for him and walked right into it.

But he was met with no violence. And though the singer said nothing, he didn't seem intent on harming Al.

The singer put the car in drive and headed west toward the outskirts of the city.

Al couldn't seem to find any words. He could hear his pulse wooshing in his ears, his heart was pounding so loud he thought the singer must be hearing it in the silent car. He already had so many unanswered questions, and now there were even more.

He sputtered out the only question his brain could form. "What's your name?"

The singer stared stonily at the road ahead.

"Ed."

That was the last word spoken. The rest of the ride was spent in silence. It felt like an eternity, but was probably around the thirty-minute mark when they pulled down a long gravel driveway up to a small, one-story wood house that resembled a cabin. Several massive oak trees bordered the property, offering a peaceful seclusion.

The singer, Ed, opened his car door and stepped out first. He didn't even wait for Al, stomping ahead to his front door, turning the key in the lock and stepping inside.

Al sat in the car, fingernails nervously scraping against the fabric at his knees. The overarching question at hand was Why? Why did this man seem to loathe him, spoke cruelly to him, and yet saw fit to bring him to his home? Why did he bring him here? But he figured if he was to get any answers at all, he had to follow him inside. He wrapped his fingers around the door handle, pushed, and stepped out onto the gravel. He walked the rest of the path and to the opened front door.

He stood at the threshold, nervously fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt, and scanned the room. It was a small rectangular living area. Though the room was dark and illuminated only by the moon filtering through a small open window, he could see an entire length of wall was stacked several feet high with books. Many were hardbound, some appeared to be leather journals, and all were coated with a layer of dust. A few had fallen from their towers onto the floor, spines open and pages exposed.

A brown couch sat against the adjacent wall. Propped against one of its arms was a cherry red accoustic guitar. He wasn't able to snoop anymore than that because Ed had returned, flicking a lightswitch with his elbow and setting two glasses on the wooden coffee table. The low wattage of the bulb illumined the room with a soft, faint glow. He took a seat on the right side of the couch, nearest the books. Al took a step closer.

Wordlessly, Ed slid one of the glasses across the table toward Al before raising his own to his lips. He took a big swallow and set it back down.

Al hesitantly approached the table and reached down to grab the glass. He very slowly, cautiously, raised it and took a small sip. The amber whiskey felt warm down his throat. Knowing now that his drink wasn't poisoned, his nerves loosened their slack and he stepped to take a seat on the couch. He cradled the glass in both hands and looked over at Ed.

He was sitting forward, forearms resting on his thighs, hands clasped but his fingers wiggled nervously. His posture was a far cry from what it was on stage performing. He looked sullen. His face was pale. His long fringe hung like curtains at his eyes, obscuring a glassy shine.

"Why, how are you here?" he questioned Al, still not looking at him. There was a hint of a tremble in his voice.

Al found the question amusing in its apparency. He couldn't help but snicker. "You were the one who brought me here. I should be asking you that question."

"No!" Ed began loudly, but took a beat to lessen his volume. "I mean... of all the places in the world, you had to end up here. I had to... " he trailed off. He didn't pose it as a question and seemed to be speaking to himself rhetorically.

Al was utterly perplexed. Just when he thought he could get somewhere, have a normal conversation, the only words that came out of his mouth were riddles.

Al heaved a sigh. "I was born not too far from where I live now. I've lived in the city my whole life."

Ed finally turned his head to look upon Al's face. He knew this face. He knew it better than anything in this world. He thought it lived only in his dreams, but here it was in the flesh. And seeing it caused him to spiral into a cacophony of emotions he was wholly unprepared to feel.

Al noticed his eyes were glazed over and he seemed to be far away. He even thought he saw a tear forming in the corner of his eye, but he blinked and it was gone.

Ed stood in a flash. He took a step closer to the piles of books and faced the wall, arms folded and clutching his elbows. After a tense moment of silence, Al stood, walked around the table and went to stand next to Ed.

He stood quiet, glancing over the books. The titles he could see were unfamiliar to even a bookworm like him. One particularly large volume toward the top of a stack said something about alchemy. Quite a few appeared to have some relation to chemistry. Each one seemed antique, their ecru pages dog-eared and brittle.

"I know you," Ed croaked quietly, jolting Al from his concentration. He shook his head and corrected himself. "I knew you. Not you, but..."

Al turned his head to Ed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I'm not from here," Ed began. His voice was whisper quiet, eyes cast down. "But where I'm from, I... I lost someone." He struggled with the words; they were so heavy in his throat. "I never thought I'd see yo-... him again."

Al surmised indefinitely that what had been happening between them was a case of mistaken identity. He must have resembled this person that Ed knew. His gaze stayed fixed on Ed.

"That we ended up in the same place... seems like a cruel joke," Ed said, a quiet disdain affecting his tone.

Ed turned to face Al and took a step closer to him. Being roughly the same height, they were face to face now. Ed's golden eyes seemed lost in a memory. Al was transfixed on them, so stricken and spellbound that he gasped in surprise when Ed raised a hand toward his cheek, stopping just before his fingertips grazed the skin. His hand hesitated for a long moment. He ultimately let the gesture die there, his arm falling deadweight back to his side.

Ed turned away abruptly. "Let's go," he gruffed, snatching his keys off the table and storming out the front door, once again leaving Al scratching his head in bewilderment.

It was another car ride spent with no words between them, but the tension in the air was much thicker this trip.

As they pulled up to Al's apartment, Ed smashed the brake pedal, bringing them to a skidding stop. His hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, eyes facing forward.

Al went to say something, but his brain couldn't seem to coordinate with his mouth, parting and sealing his lips like a suffocating fish. He took a second to exhale deeply, shook his head and shoved open the car door. Its window had been rolled down, and he leaned his head into it.

"I'm sorry for your loss. It seems to have really hurt you." He paused.

"But I'm not them."

"You might as well be," Ed said, and with a roar of the engine, a violent spinning of tires, he sped away.