4

He peers through the bus window at the ominous clouds. The light drops of rain, quickly turn the gray of the sidewalk to a mottled black. He likes this dark brand of sky. People are less aware, far more concerned with getting to shelter, staying dry, worrying about plans made more difficult by the heavens spilling down.

Though he walks freely among them, beside these scurrying creatures of habit, there’s always a risk he’ll be recognized for his true self. Rain feels like an invisible cloak; the humidity like soft, protective fiber against his skin.

Until he found him on this bus in the late afternoon, he had spent the day traveling the bus routes, attempting to ascertain if what he felt yesterday was because of this bus, or this man, or a random connection to something else. Now he knows. He’d moved seats numerous times, reached out and brushed a few of those around him. Nothing. Just a nagging frustration growing within that he may have been mistaken.

Now as he watches him—yes, and the man is him—he understands like a faded memory reinvigorated by an old song or the whiff of an intangible scent. He knows his search is over.

With each stop he studies the driver, cobbles his memories together, and wonders why he hadn’t sought him out before. Of course, he may help him to open the door. Friend or enemy, though?

The way he looks at the girl, all golden hair and a smile, as she climbs aboard and skims past the driver, reveals so much. This makes perfect sense; the two of them special lights in a world filled with half-opened doorways and empty rooms. They are both of the same design.

As she maneuvers down the aisle, the girl places a hand on the seat back in front of him. He reaches out nonchalantly to touch her. Electric fire, blue and sharp, rushes through his skin.

She could be The One.

He soaks in this knowledge, and the peace this thought brings. This long search could be over. Her brow lifts playfully as she looks down at his hand; surprise crosses her face. He smiles and withdraws the hand, feigning embarrassment. She smiles. Unsuspecting. No reason to fear. A random accident of physicality, a moving bus, an unbalanced body.

Now she is his and he can source her at will. A thrill plays through him and goosebumps rise on his skin. For the next fifteen minutes he slides between exhilaration and frustration that he must wait until tonight. He’ll follow, but he’s learned through experience that timing is everything.

Then the bus stops and the driver stands facing down the aisle. He introduces himself. Rory Fine. Has the man recognized him? Surely the bus driver cannot know or he would have noticed a reaction.

As the bus driver talks he begins to understand. This isn’t a random chance meeting that he is here on this bus with her. Something grander is at play. He just needs to figure out exactly what that means.