The awkward ramblings of a new roommate should be a drain on his nerves, yet Jackson finds himself more amused than anything. “You are, a pot of coffee sounds lovely, tea is fine but I like coffee a little more for waking me up. Cream and sugar if you’re offering a cup.
“Since you’re up I figured I’d give you a heads up; I have some people coming by to view the last room. I’m hoping to get lucky and find someone to take it today so we don’t have people coming in and out all month.”
Hakeem finds the mugs and lets the tea steep and coffee brew, he turns to Jackson who has settled on a stool by the kitchen island. “Did you need me out of the apartment? I have to get groceries anyway. I can be out of your hair in an hour.”
“Not at all. Actually, I was hoping I can get your opinion on who gets the room. You’ll be living with whomever gets it for at least eighteen months, if you decide you aren’t sick of me before then, so I figure having a second opinion wouldn’t hurt.”
“You want my opinion?” asks Hakeem, surprised. “I mean, sure, if I can be of help. I can put the shopping to the side for now. But I mean, it’s your apartment. The choice is yours in the end.”
Hakeem pours Jackson a cup of coffee and stirs in the cream and sugar. He passes him the cup and turns his head before whispering the next part under his breath. “And I don’t think I’ll get sick of you before then, or at all.” He wasn’t sure why he said that, genuinely shocked by such a bold statement coming from him. He just hoped it was too quiet for Jackson to hear.
Jackson wasn’t sure if he heard Hakeem right, but decided he shouldn’t press, the poor guy looked like he was about to implode. “Call it intuition, maybe it’s a bond formed by overcoming the adversity that is my temperamental magic, but I want your opinion. Who knows, maybe all three of us will become great friends.” Jackson doubts it, sarcasm seeping into his tone, but figures some positivity wouldn’t hurt. “Also a grocery run sounds like a solid plan, I’ll drive us later today after the last guy drops by.”
Hakeem settles into the stool next to Jackson and enjoys the smell of his tea. “Sounds like a plan. When is the first person coming by?”
“In about an hour, then about an hour apart till about noon. Early start, early finish.” Jackson takes a sip from the cup fixed for him, enjoying the smooth taste of the brew.
* * *
Three applicants come and go over the course of the morning. All pleasant seeming folk, but Jackson didn’t seem impressed. Hakeem asked him what he was looking for in a roommate, another perfect mana match like Hakeem seemed unlikely.
Okay, technically it was an impossibility, if anyone had a perfect match they would get one in a lifetime.
Jackson ponders the question for a moment, rubbing a hand over his face in exasperation, before turning to Hakeem. “I don’t know, this wholething is some odd scheme by an old friend so I’m kinda forced into finding people. When you showed up, before it was revealed you were my match, I had a good feeling about you. To be blunt I wasn’t appalled by the idea of living with you. I guess someone who doesn’t give me the ick? I’m bad at interacting with people outside of parties and events, where I put on a front and act all professional and polite. I don’t want to be like that in my own home, so if I can find someone I can relax around that would be ideal.”
Hakeem’s brain lingers on what Jackson said, how he didn’t give him the ick. Jackson felt like he could relax around Hakeem, he didn’t hate the idea of living together. Was it just the mutual mana that flowed through them, or was Jackson actually starting to enjoy Hakeem’s company?
Jackson goes to pour himself the last of the coffee pot, but something catches his eye. The shadows in the corner of the room begin to tremble and grow, tendrils slithering out from his feet. “What the hell? What now?” He grumbles.
Jackson goes to bat away the shadows, attempting to quell the magic building within him. “Hakeem do you know what’s causing this? Any theories?”
Hakeem shakes his head and tries to close the distance between them. “I’m not sure, we haven’t really looked into what triggers these outbursts. It could be environmental, stress induced, subconscious casting. It could quite literally be anything. Magic can be temperamental and fickle. Just don’t try to fight it too hard, struggling could cause your tendrils to lash out more aggressively. Magic doesn’t like to be restrained, it might be reacting to an internal trigger that you yourself aren’t aware of.”
Before Hakeem could reach Jackson, tendrils of shadow wrap around Jackson’s wrist, restraining him in place. The shadows grab the coffee pot and proceed to pour the last cup of brown liquid on top of Jackson’s head. It drips all over his head and coats his dark hair. Coffee stains Jackson’s shirt as it falls over him, dripping onto the floor at his feet. The tendrils release Jackson’s wrists and place the coffee pot gently on the counter, the shadows in the room settling as the magic thickening the air fades. Hakeemstifles a gasp, staring wide eyed as coffee continues to drip from Jackson’s hair, down his nose and further down his shirt.
“So … that happened.” Jackson wipes his face with his hand, his brow furrowed. That was unusual and unnecessary, his magic seemed determined to embarrass him.
Hakeem closes the distance, offering Jackson some paper towels. “Just say the word, you can wish this mess away. A small spill is easy for me to clean, and we get that stain out of your shirt too. Or maybe I have a spell to do the trick”
Jackson accepts the paper towel and dries himself off best he can. “I’m not going to get used to you fixing every small thing my magic causes, you’re not responsible for me.” He doesn’t mean for the bite in his tone, but his nerves are on edge. “I needed a shower anyway. I’ll wipe up the spill on the floor then wash up. The last guy for the day will be by in a bit so can I ask a favor? Do you mind showing them around while I wash up? I’d rather not stretch this day out longer than needed.”
Hakeem nods as Jackson cleans up the coffee on the floor. “Steven will let you know when he gets here. According to the notes I got from Wendy, it’s Eddie Seung-LaLune, I know of him. His family and mine have been in business together before. Never met the guy personally. Funny enough, he even goes to Solomon University, not that I went out of my way to meet him. But I figure he won’t do anything that’ll strain relations between his family and mine.”
Hakeem offers a quick nod, “I can do that, but it’s funny. What are the odds that two sons from the biggest business groups in the realm end up living together. Sounds like a pilot of a sitcom. Maybe he’ll be the perfect second roommate.”
Jackson gives a half-hearted smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe, it would be nice to finish this search in one weekend. I just hope my magic doesn’t cause any more issues, I can’t handle the headache.”
* **
In front of the Alexandria Heights building Eddie pulls in on his motorcycle. It’s a sturdy machine, sleek black leather seats and a wide frame. He turns the engine off and steps off the bike, fiddles with the keys in his hand and presses a rune attached to the keyring. The bike glows and shrinks where it’s parked, down to the size of a toy model. Magic made parking in the city easy, no tickets for him. He pulls off his helmet, his hair sticking to his forehead, and ruffles his wavy dark locks with his fingers. He tucks his helmet under his arm, picks up the shrunken bike, the engine quick cooling for easy pickup, and walks into the building to head to the front desk.
“Good afternoon, my name is Edmund Seung-LaLune. I’m here for an apartment showing at noon. I believe Jackson Nocturne is expecting me, here’s my I.D.”
Eddie hands Steven his driver’s license. The older gentleman takes the I.D. and gives it a once over, scanning it under the desk to check its validity. “Good afternoon to you, Mr. LaLune. Mr. Nocturne has been expecting you, yes. Just a moment I’ll ring up and get you cleared to go.”
Steven picks up the phone and calls up the penthouse. A timid voice comes through the other line, it rings through the air, Eddie’s ears latch on to the sound. “Hello, Steven?”
“Ah. Mr. Al-Najim, is this a bad time?”
