1 First Meet

He pushed his glasses up his nose and sat down on the chair with a light grunt. It had been an exhausting day. He looked up at his clock in the dim lights of his golden room and sighed.

It was 1:00 AM in the morning already.

But determined, he opened up his laptop and found where he had left off the story he was working on. Pouring some orange juice he sat down to write.

His mind wandered and soon, he was lost in his world. His hands flew over the keyboard like some crazed maniac as he spouted down the words which took form in his mind and reflected on his laptop screen.

Rinnggg.

"Huh?" he turned around and leaned over his chair to pick up his phone which was lazily buzzing on the bed. By the time he took it, he had pressed on the green button by mistake. So he put it to his ear and asked in his gruff, baritone voice. The fact that he was sleepy too didn't make his tone sound any better.

"Who's this?"

"Jack?"

Jack creased his eyebrows in confusion. He knew this voice, but at the same time he didn't...who was this guy calling him in the middle of the night?

"Yeah it's me," he replied. It could be some fan of his too. But he highly doubted it. Their chances of getting his personal number was from 0 to -100.

"You sound a lot different," the voice from the other side said.

"Who are you?"

A little second of silence followed before Jack started getting impatient. He took his phone and cut the call and tossed the phone back on the bed. He turned around in his chair and saw his Scrivener page staring right through him.

Who was that guy? He sounded like he knew Jack. Instantly, he regretted cutting the call so brazenly. He expected him to call again. But 10 minutes passed, then another 10. Still no call.

Jack groaned in frustration and messed up his brown hair, "I just wasted 20 minutes thinking about this. Could have finished this chapter by now!"

But when his eyes landed on the laptop screen, a wave of drowsiness hit him and right now, all he wanted to do was climb into his bed to sleep.

So that's what he did. But he didn't feel so calm then either.

He was in bed alone. Heck, he lived in this house all alone, with no one to keep him company. He had thought with the money he was making, he would be happy. He could be whatever he wanted. But without a soul to walk by his side, all that really went blank.

It was almost like all he did right now was breath for writing and eat for writing and wake up in the morning to write and make money to write more.

Was this the life he wanted?

"I don't know what to do..." he groaned again, ruffling his hair. His mood was especially crappy today. The blind date he had gone to ended in a disaster, with the girl spilling all her wine on his leather jacket. He didn't even have the energy to go the laundry, so he just threw that 5000 dollar jacket in the trash can of that restaurant.

Jack bounced back up on his bed, "Ahh fuck it."

He grabbed his hoodie and pulled it on before striding out of his deluxe flat and into the snowy winter of England. "I need a drink," he talked to himself on the way to his favorite pub down the street.

Well, maybe not favorite, but that place was where he went. He walked by a huge building beside the highway. His feet automatically slowed down as he neared this skyscraper and looked up. He pulled back his hoodie from his head and took it all in.

This was the place he had broken up with his girlfriend all those years ago. Their first date had been here too. And so was their last. What a pit bag.

That's when Jack got proper mad at the person he was. He kicked the concrete wall of the side wall.

"Ow, ow, ow." He lifted his knee and grabbed his toes tight to numb the pain. He froze as he had the clatter of a phone on the ground. Slowly, he put his leg back down and looked behind him.

And standing amongst the English crowd, was a tall man, his eyes covered with dark shiny black sunglasses. A coat hung over his shoulder and his feet adorned polished heel boots. Jack looked up from his boot at what he was wearing.

A tuxedo. A hot black tuxedo. Jack gulped as he looked at this man. he certainly didn't look like the type who would drop phones in the middle of a public street.

"J-Jack?" the man managed to stutter, walking forward. Against, the dark, Jack couldn't see who this person really was. So he walked forward too, his toes barely hurting now.

As the light fell on the man's face, highlighting the sharp features and colored eyes that graced his fair face, Jack gasped.

Jack was the writer of the most successful story in the site, riddled with the most jaw dropping cliff hangers ever. So if he gasped at this, it would have been hell of a surprise.

"Pio...you're...."

Pio smiled to one side and he whispered quietly, "Yeah. I'm alive."

"I thought you died in that...we all thought..."

Pio spread his hands out and Jack watched as the city lights bathed his glorious frame. He had really grown these past few years. Even his face looked different, more attractive?

"I'm as good as new."

"Better than new," Jack blurted and laughed to cover it up. "Were you the one who called me earlier?" he asked, walking forward and picking up his phone for him. Now that he was closer to Pio, Jack couldn't believe it.

He was really alive.

Pio took the phone and slipped it into his pant pocket, "Called? No. I had been talking to my CE all this while."

Jack raised his eyebrows, "Wait, what? You're still writing? But your story hasn't updated since 3 years. All the readers...they went crazy. All your books just...ended. And we didn't know what happened either. What...what actually happened?"

Pio sighed and looked over, "Fine. You had dinner?" he studied his face knowingly, "No you didn't. You were up writing weren't you?" he shook his head, disappointed.

"Come, I'll take you to dinner. I'll tell you everything then."