Story Pilots

Housemates

Jon struggles to pick up and carry his baggage as he leaves the airport. He didn't have much with him, just the essentials really. Cloths, supplies, small keepsakes, money, and his camera, which had its own bag. Just about anything he could grab before leaving his old life behind. After all, he wasn't planning to return to that country any time soon. It's not that he hated the country, he just couldn't find anything for himself there. He wanted more than some small town filled with people he never felt a connection for. Unlike his parents Jon just couldn't find any peace in the country they had moved to. All he could find work wise was family friends who barely paid him for his photography because they were "like family" to him. He knew that was a completely bullshit reason to not pay for his work, but he didn't have the mental strength to argue with them. These people were very close to his family, so they weren't wrong, but to him they were just faces in the crowd. Not that he didn't like them, he just moved there too late in life to connect to them.

Little did his family know Jon was saving all those small checks he got when he was actually paid for his work. When he finally believed he had saved enough that night he bought a plane ticket, left a letter on the kitchen table, and early that next morning he set off for the airport. The letter was more for his grandparents than his parents. His parents knew his plans, and fully supported his leaving the country. They had seen how stressed he had become sense moving away and felt him returning to where he grew up was the best option for him, if he chose to. His grandparents, on the other hand, would have been pissed if they knew. Jon had become their young, chipper caretaker once the family arrived, pretty much waiting on them hand and foot. They were the ones that convinced his family to move, they were the ones who told their friends he was a photographer, they were the ones who insisted their friends not pay. Jon never held a grudge against them, he just wasn't a grudge-holding kind of person, but he definitely didn't care much for them either. Him already leaving didn't stop them from being angry, though. The whole ride to the airport, the whole wait for the plane, all the way until the plane took off, they were blowing up his phone. Calls, texts, emails, his phone was vibrating all the way until he got on the plane. Once seated he gave his parents one last message before powering his phone down and taking a nap, sleeping through most of his flights.

Jon hopped onto a trolley as it made its way down the bustling street. He paid his tax and sat near the back, next to the window, watching everything and everyone pass by. The trolly made its way down the street, passing tourist traps and lovely homes. It brought back memories of when Jon was young, living close to a city like this. His family had lived in a small town, about nineteen kilometers from a smaller city. Definitely not a tourist town like this one, but more than a handful of people living in it. He had long since forgotten the names of the towns, the people living there, even his street's name, though he did recall small bits of it. He recalled the quiet fields around his home, the stars that shone bright in the night sky dew to the lack of streetlights, and his school years. He remembered the usual, the dread of Mondays, the joys of the weekend, having to learn material he would never use again, the usual. There was one thing he remembered that was interesting. A boy. T. T was one of his classmates, and his best friend. Of course his name wasn't actually T, rather Jon had forgotten his name over the years. It was there, right on the tip of his tongue, but he just wouldn't come to him. He sighed, but couldn't let the memories go right now. Not when he was so close to remembering. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he let it all come back to him.

T was a strange boy. For starters, like Jon, T wasn't originally from the country. He had migrated from Norway, and it was easy to tell. When the two had met in school, T had a strong accent and some broken English. He slowly learned throughout the years they spent together, but when they first met he could barely hold a conversation. Jon didn't mind it, he thought T was actually quite interesting. He enjoyed hearing his long rants over things T found interesting and annoying, even if he could barely understand. The two weren't just different in language, but looks as well. Jon was thirteen, though looked younger than he actually was. He had a round face, a soft and sweet looking boy, with bright blonde hair, pale skin, and deep green eyes. T, on the other hand, looked almost older than he was. T was just freshly fourteen, though looked like he could have been at least seventeen. It was understandable, he had to grow up quickly with his life situation. Poor, rotten family life, though still somehow able to smile through it. He had dark brunette hair that he loved styling himself. He would shave one side, then let the rest grow. It suited him. He had cinnamon skin, dark hazel eyes, and a face littered with freckles, almost like someone had splashed pain drops all over his face. Jon was certain T never got acne because he would simply break out in more freckles. They enjoyed joking about it after school, along with bonding over their love for exploring and being relentlessly bullied.

If you were to ask anyone they would tell you the two were an odd pair. Jon was considered a 'teacher's pet' whereas T was a 'problemed child.' Their teachers usually worried T's attitude would rub off on Jon, but throughout the years neither changed much. If anything they noticed a change in T. He became more social and got into less fights. Not only that, but he was almost never alone anymore. Jon and T were almost never seen apart. Everyday after school they would hang out and go do whatever it was they were planning to do. Be it running around in town or exploring the fields and woods around their homes. There was one place they loved going to the most. They found an old, run down, abandoned farmhouse in a small field deep in the woods behind T's house. It was a place of their very own. Sure, it probably wasn't a safe place for them to hang out, but it beat staying at their own homes. They enjoyed finding things around their homes and keeping them at the house. Their best keepsake was a full, two foot long snake skin they had carefully pinned to a block of wood T had taken from his dad's wood pile. That house was the best.

Their visits to the house ended about a month before Jon moved away. He was seventeen when his parents broke the news to him. T hadn't taken it well. He did everything he could to get Jon to stay. He asked Jon's parents, made plans to run away with Jon, he had even snuck out of his house two nights in a row in order to make plans with Jon on how he could run away from home and make it back to their town. Nothing worked of course. Once summer hit, Jon's parents packed up all their things, and the three of them were off to the airport. T never showed up to see them off. Neither boy had a phone at the time, so they couldn't call. Jon had sent a letter once they arrived in the new country, but he never got a reply. It hurt for a long time, but he eventually got over it. Not entirely accepted it, just pushed the memories away so he could try and move on. With how busy he started becoming as he got older the memories began to fade. Finishing school, going to college, getting work, it all began to take priority over a friend who he never heard back from. Over time, he had practically forgotten everything.

Jon gave the driver a friendly nod as he hopped off the trolley. He stood for a moment, watching it slowly disappear down the road, before turning his attention to the road sign near him. He slipped a small slip of paper out of his pocket. He looked from it back to the sig. Lucky Lane, written in large white text on the pretty green sign. This was it, his new street. He began his tread down the street, passing natives and tourists as he watched everything go by. Everything was moving so fast. This was his first time living in a big town and he did have a worry in the back of his mind that he wouldn't like living here. Still, he was here now, and nothing was going to change that. He wondered how many of the people around him thought he was a tourist. He definitely fit the criteria. Foreigner walking around one of the bigger cities, a backpack sitting upon his shoulders, filled with enough clothes for about a week and a half, looking for a building poorly jotted down on a piece of notebook paper he tore out of a speckled notebook. Yep, sounded like a tourist to him. Now wasn't the time to think about his appearance, though, as he began seeing the building number draw closer and closer to the one on his paper. Building fifty, fifty-two, fifty-four. He assumed the odd numbered buildings were across the streets. Fifty-six, fifty-eight. He couldn't wait to throw his bag down and finally relax after his journey. He was just about to read the next building number, building number sixty, his new building. It came into his line of sight.

Crash!

Jon fell back onto the pavement, along with the person he ran into. He knew he should have been watching where he was going. He heard the guy groan. He groaned too, holding his head. Nobody stopped, everybody else simply moved to walk around the two. What a way to start out living on his street. He couldn't even make it to his front door before embarrassing himself, and probably pissing this guy off. Jon was just about to apologize when the guy spoke up first.

"Jon?"

His stomach dropped. He looked up and their eyes locked. The voice, a strong Norwegian accent, hidden from years of living in a different country but still so clear to him. The cinnamon skin, and the brunet hair, styled so unlikely, left to grow through the years but still hints of a childhood style. Deep, dark hazel eyes stared into his, complemented by a face littered with freckles, as if someone had splashed paint drops all over him. He definitely had more than Jon last saw him. Everything came back and hit him at once all over again. The boy, the adventures, the friendship. A name.

"Tim?"