In Bloom

Chapter 2

It seemed like Jackson had blinked and a week flew by, it was the day he’d become anxious for and despite setting his own alarms, Mark insisted on calling him two hours before he’d planned on being up. After the conversation, filled with very colorful vocabulary, ended, the man drug himself from the bed and skulked to the kitchen to grab an energy drink from the fridge. Cracking the can open, the bleary eyed man downed half the can as he walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

By the time he made it back to his room with a second can of his sanity giving caffeine, and a towel slung low on his waist, Mark had called him an additional twenty-three times. “Good god man,” he sighed out, “he acts like I’ve never done this before.” Jackson had just dialed his obsessive manager’s number when there was a sudden pounding on his front door. “Oh no…” the man groaned out as he trudged towards the noise, knowing full well who was behind it.

“Hello Mark. Doing well this morning?” The writer said sarcastically as he opened the door to a very flustered editor, “well?! Well?! Yeah Jackson, I’m doing freaking swell.” Mark stormed into the house as if on a warpath, “why aren’t you dressed yet? What if we hit traffic? Did you eat something? You know how cranky you get when you’re hungry.” The editor was flitting around, firing off questions faster than the towel clad man could answer them, not that he could get a word in edgewise anyway.

Jackson lifted the can to his lips and took a long drink letting his friend get it all out of his system, “done now?” he asked Mark as the man looked pale and nervous. If he didn’t know any better, Jackson would swear his editor was the one about to be the main star of the meeting, not him.

Slumping his head in defeat, Mark nodded, causing his friend to let out a chuckle as the writer walked over and threw his arm around his friend. “Mark, you’ve got to relax. We’ve got a whole hour left before I even needed to wake up thanks to you.” The man leaned over and pressed his forehead to his friend's temple and spoke softly, his tone now more relaxed and gentle, “it’s going to go fine, okay? Don’t stress yourself too much.”

The editor nodded again and melted into Jackson’s hold; since his accident, Mark and Jackson had become more than friends, they were brothers. “You’re right,” the man sighed before realizing he was being held by a naked man, “christ!” He yelled as he wiggled away from the other, “go put on clothes, please.”

Jackson smirked and stood up, “I’ll pretend not to be offended that you aren’t enjoying the view,” he quipped as he headed to his bedroom to get dressed. Opting for a pair of loose jeans and a black tshirt, the writer grabbed his bag and flannel shirt as he walked out the door.

The smell of food drew the man to the kitchen, where Mark had emptied the miniscule amount of things from his fridge and had cooked them into an actual meal. Something Jackson never bothered to do. “Aw honey, you shouldn’t have,” the man said as he made his way to one of the chairs to pig out. “Shut up,” Mark said as he rolled his eyes, “I knew you wouldn’t do it yourself so I had to make sure you ate before we did this.”

The man shuffled sausage links out of a skillet and onto a plate before pulling off the apron and tossing it onto the counter and joining his friend at the table.

The two ate in silence as the mountain of food diminished into crumbs and plates, “damn Mark,” Jackson huffed out as he patted his, now very full, stomach, “you’re going to make someone very happy someday.” Giving his friend a slight smirk, he took on a more teasing tone, “unless you keep feeding me like this; then I’ll just have to marry you myself.”

Mark rolled his eyes and sighed at his writer, “you act like I’d even say yes if you asked.” Giving Jackson a wicked smile, he stood up and began clearing plates as the other let out a booming laugh, “touché,” the writer said as he got up to help clean.

Between the two of them, the dishes were done in no time and the younger of the two flopped on the couch to relax, “waking me up early for a meeting and making me help do dishes? Some best friend you are,” the writer whined as he threw his head back against the cushion. “I didn’t make you help with anything,” the elder huffed as he plopped down beside his friend and glanced at his watch; “okay, five minutes and then we have to go.” Knowing full well he would have to practically drag Jackson out of the door, he told him they had to leave earlier than he told him, otherwise they would actually be late, and Mark absolutely couldn’t have that.

“Noooo-” Jackson was whining again a few moments later as Mark was physically pulling the younger out of the door. “I don’t want to! I changed my mind!” He continued to wail as Mark propped his friend up against his own back so he could lock the man child’s door, “well that’s too bad. It’s too late to cancel and you promised me.” The editor turned and began pushing Jackson towards his car while the writer tried to bargain his way out of the meeting; “I’ll give you double your normal bonus!” “No,” the editor was not going to let him sweet talk his way out of this, the opportunity was too important for Jackson to pass up. “What if I take you on vacation? Anywhere you want!” “A vacation? With you? Absolutely not!” Mark was holding back laughter as best he could.

In all the years he’d known the younger, Jackson had never changed, at least, not with him. Sadly, after the accident, the writer had closed himself off to the world, making it so nothing could ever hurt him again, and that had given the man a reputation of being shy but also cold. In reality his best friend had a warm, funny personality. His smile could light up even the darkest of days and his laugh was always music to Mark’s ears. He hoped someday someone would be able to help Jackson let that side of himself out again, but so far, nothing had stuck.

“Okay, final offer,” “alright, let's hear it,'' the elder said, about to lose his battle to keep his feigned annoyance up, “what if, I swear to do the next three contracts no matter what?” Mark stopped pushing for a second to ponder, but not seriously consider the offer, making Jackson’s heart flutter with hope; “hmm, as tempting as that sounds, the answer is still no, now get your ass in the car.” With an evil laugh, Mark opened the car door and with a final shove, managed to get his friend in and shut the door.

After Mark dashed around to the driver’s side and practically head diving in to start the car, the pair were on their way to Bloom International headquarters to meet with the shark himself; Mark singing along to the radio and Jackson still pouting in the front seat. The drive seemed to last forever, maybe it was the impending sense of selling his soul, but Jackson seemed to be counting the seconds which was making the time drag by.

After what seemed like a century, the tall building came into view and the writer let out a sigh as his counterpart let out an excited giggle. The gleaming tower looked silver from the way the light hit the windows; it was truly a thing of beauty, however, the writer couldn’t wait to see it in the rearview mirror.

Mark pulled around to the front entrance and parked, the car still idling and Jackson turned to look at him in panic, “don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you. Just go inside and let them know we’re here, while I park.” The editor reached over and gave his best friend’s hand a reassuring squeeze before nodding his head at the door. Letting out a shaky breath, Jackson opened the door and got out, only to lean his head back in and whisper grumbled, “just hurry up, okay?” Mark gave his friend a thumbs up and drove off the second the younger man shut the door.

With a deep breath, Jackson turned towards the doors and willed his feet to walk forward and step through the sliding doors.

The lobby was beyond breathtaking; the floors were white, but sparkled like glitter with each step he took towards the massive, dark wood desk, nestled snugly below an obnoxiously large, crystal chandelier . The walls were a chocolate brown with black marbling, almost giving the effect of pouring coffee, and Jackson scoffed under his breath at the intentionally ironic design, thinking to himself about how he couldn’t wait to leave.

He trepidatiously made his way to the last behind the desk and spoke softly, “excuse me? I’m here to see Mr. Bloom?” She typed quickly on her computer without even bothering to glance up at him, “Mr. North?” “Yes, ma’am,” “ID.” She seemed more efficient than curt, but there was definitely warmth lacking in her tone.

When she reached up to make sure his face matched his identification, she let out a soft gasp, a reaction the young writer was used to getting. From what he could remember about his appearance, he was decently attractive, but the way people reacted when they saw him always gave him a confidence boost, which he sorely needed to get through this meeting.

“You’re cleared to go up Mr. North, third elevator on your left, 30th floor.” The woman handed his ID back to him, which he took and slipped back into his wallet before giving her a kind smile, “thank you,” he said as he bowed his head and began to walk towards his destination. Just as he reached the elevator, he heard Mark yell for him, “Jackson!” The writer turned towards the familiar blue sweater and began walking over, “no, no! You go ahead, I’ll be right there! I left my wallet in the car.”

A slight sweat broke out along the man’s brow as panic flooded him. He couldn’t meet this guy without Mark. Hell, for all he knew, he could have already passed the man and would be none the wiser. “It’s okay, I’ll be right there!”

Before he could protest, Jackson watched his friend rush back out the doors and disappear from his sight.This had to be some kind of sick joke Mark was playing. First he browbeat him into accepting this meeting, then he miraculously leaves his ID in the car, forcing Jackson to traverse the building by himself. He only hoped that he wouldn’t actually run into his potential muse before Mark came back, because not recognizing one of the most famous men in the world, whom he was there to speak with in the first place, would be embarrassing and probably a deal breaker.

The writer turned back and stepped up to the elevator again, only this time, he was met with the backs of a couple and he groaned internally. It was bad enough not having Mark beside him, it was even worse since, between the two of them, his editor was the one who made the small talk in these situations.

However, he didn’t have long to dwell on it because the familiar ding signaled their lift had arrived and the gold plated doors slid open, allowing the couple to step in and a sighing Jackson to follow. “What floor?” The tall man asked as the writer tucked himself into the corner, “uh, 30th,” he said barely before a sharp gasp cut through the small space. “Babe? What’s wrong?” The man asked the woman he walked in with.

Jackson was already uncomfortable, but now he was also slightly on edge because something about that gasp made him realize it was meant for him. The writer kept his eyes on the floor as she mumbled sharply to her partner.

He prayed that whatever the situation was would fade without him being confronted, but as luck wasn’t on his side, the woman’s shrill voice cut through the air, like a knife coming directly at him, “hey!” She called, and he internally let out a heavy sigh before looking up at her, “yes?” The woman scoffed and nudged her boyfriend making Jackson’s face flush, what could he have possibly done within their thirty second interaction that would warrant this reaction from her? “That’s him! That’s the guy!” Her boyfriend tilted his head in confusion, but before he could say anything, she stomped up to the writer and poked him in the chest with her overly manicured nail, “you really don’t remember me, do you asshole?”