Track for this chapter:

The View from my Window, by Yiruma, from the album Destiny of Love

When at last the room swam into reasonable focus, morning light slanted through the window above him; the fire was cold before him, a few solitary coals gleaming in its ashes, and he sat up shakily.

His limbs felt stiff and weak, and he realised he was lying on top a a few layered blankets before a fireplace, wearing clothes that were not his own. Framed works of art hung on the walls around him, and across the room, a few pairs of shoes sat on a towel near the door. One pair was his.

He fell back onto the blankets, exhausted from the effort of sitting up.

He heard somebody walk into the room, soft thunk of heavy boots. They were trying to tread lightly. Talking in hushed voices on a cell phone, back and forth, back and forth, anxious on the carpet.

"Yes, yes, I've been trying to reach you for three days...by a dumpster. No, I did not KIDNAP him. He's been asleep the whole time...I don't think so. FOR THE LAST TIME, I did NOT KIDNAP HIM."

The stranger sighed.

"Yes, yes, whatever. Will you just come over here and get him? I am supposed to be in Michigan. I can't be waiting here for him to wake up...Very well. Fine. Fine. Yes...HOUR? MY FLIGHT LEAVES IN TEN MINUTES!"

The stranger seemed quite miffed at being delayed in his flight to Michigan, for whatever reason; Tsubasa supposed he was an artist because of the art plastered haphazardly on his walls in place of wallpaper.

An exasperated sigh, and then: "I SUPPOSE if you want to...you're sure? I mean you're absolutely sure your father will buy me a later ticket?...I have to be there before tonight. Yes, tonight. NO. I am going to leave RIGHT NOW if you...yes. Okay. Fine. Yes, yes, it's a deal. Goodbye."

Tsubasa heard the soft snap of a cell phone clicking shut, the whoosh of it sliding back into a pocket.

Behind him the figure sighed, and said softly, "There's no need to pretend to be asleep any longer, Tsubasa."

He sat up and turned to find the man leaning on the back of the couch behind him, head resting on gloved hands and green eyes shut, his hair falling down to his shoulders and jacket off.

Jack opened an eye and smiled cat-like at him. "You're lucky I rescued you, you know. You nearly got hypothermia."

Tsubasa did not feel at all surprised to see him, oddly enough; Jack seemed to fit into the scenery of the apartment perfectly.

He sat silently before the fire, and Jack copied his silence, both comfortable without saying a word. Communication was not needed here.

Then something struck him. "Jack, who was that on the phone?"

"I called the first number on your contact list. The rest was locked. Security reasons, I suppose", he said casually, indicating that he was annoyed with Tsubasa for locking his contact list.

Tsubasa mentally thumbed through the contents of his phone. The first contact on the list was...Gingka Hagane?

"You called Gingka?"

"Yes. He'll be here to pick you up in an hour." Jack surveyed him. "And by that, I mean probably physically pick you up."

Tsubasa shook his head mutely. "Get me a phonebook. I don't want to have to deal with Gingka right now."

"But his father already promised to get me another ticket to Michigan."

"Why are you going to Michigan?"

"For a wedding."

Curiosity officially peaked, due to the fact that he presumed Jack had no family or friends: "Whose?"

"Mine", he said casually. "Who were you going to call?"

"A friend. You can still catch your flight."

"It left 5 minutes ago."

"Is it still snowing?"

"Hmm...yes", Jack said, with a quick glance at the window.

"That plane is going to be grounded for at least the next hour. Planes never leave on time."

"You have a very good point, my friend." Jack lay a phonebook in Tsubasa's hands.

They then found that there is only one Les Romero in the whole of Metal City.

"Hello?" Les's gravelly voice came through the phone; Tsubasa was relieved to hear it again.

"Hi, Les."

"Ah think ye got tha wrong number. Watcher fingers nex' time ye makes a call, son, 'kay? Ah gotta go. Lookin' fer a lost friend."

"Les, it's me. Tsubasa."

"Wha din'tcha say so!? Boy, I been lookin' fer ya since three days 'go! Where you been?"

"East side of town. It's a long story. Will you come and get me?"

"Why cant ye call a friend te come 'n gitchee?"

"You're my only friend."

"Oh, nah that ain't true. Ye got Hikaru and...uh. Miles. And...Ross and Hunter 'n Hazel."

"Seriously? A secretary, two eight-year-olds, a 5-year-old, and a 6-year-old?"

"Miles is seven."

"Les. Please? I'm tired and I just want to go home."

"All right, son. I'll come'n getcha. But when ye git back ta full health, you'n I is gonna sit down an' talk awhile, okay?"

"It's a deal."

Les appeared ten minutes later in a rust-coloured pickup truck. He an Jack, between them, managed to get Tsubasa into the front seat, and Jack rushed out behind them lugging a suitcase and a garment protector.

"Good luck with your wedding, Jack."

"Thank you. I probably shall need it", said Jack, paling a bit.

As they pulled out of the driveway and sleep took hold again, Tsubasa thought how nice it was not to have someone asking questions all the time. Jack had not pried as to why he had been near the dumpster on the east side of town in the first place, nor how he had come to be without a jacket.

And on the west side of town, forgotten beneath a layer of snow, unhinged with rust slowly creeping over its edges, lonely in the gutter lay a gold hair clip, ne'er to be discovered until spring.