Oh My God, They Were Roommates

3 | Separate Ways, Worlds Apart

As Sora took a bus away from campus, Ray and Leo hopped onto a bus in the opposite direction. Their next class didn't start until later that afternoon, and Ray had several items on his shopping list that needed ticking off.

    Ray flipped open his notes on his phone and pointed to the first item on his list. "For one, I need a bed."

    "That would be ideal, I agree," Leo said. "So what are you sleeping on now?"

    "The floor," Ray confessed with a grimace. Leo winced. "But, I can stand to sleep on the floor for a while longer. That's not the priority here."

    "It isn't?"

    "No. This is my priority," Ray said, pointing to the next item on the list.

    The two of them watched as Ray's phone loaded up a picture of the classiest guitar Ray had ever seen in his entire life. He had been waiting for this moment since he signed his lease months ago, before every piece of shit hit the fan. He would leave his old life behind and start a fresh new existence in San Francisco.

    Sure, it would take a bit longer for the strings to wear in and for his hands to grow accustom to it, but boy, would it feel good to have a guitar again.

    Considering what happened to his last acoustic.

    That experience had, however, made him infinitely more grateful for the fact that his electric guitar was still intact. Sure, his acoustic needed an upgrade (he had had it since middle school) but that didn't mean it deserved to have its spruce body thrown out a fifth story window.

    "Wow," Leo marveled, reaching for Ray's phone. Ray beamed at the way Leo's eyes lit up in the glow of the guitar on his phone screen. No one at the community college would have had that look on their faces had he shown them his future guitar. "That's spunky," he said.

    Ray laughed. "Out of everything you coulda called it—"

    "I mean, it's super cool! Where are you getting it from?"

    "Haight Ashbury," he confessed, and Leo promptly squealed with excitement.

     Haight Ashbury was farther west than where Sora's workplace resided, and so there was no concern of their paths crossing as Sora stepped off of the bus and stood within view of the establishment. The neon lights were off for that afternoon, and the tinted windows at the front were pasted over with posters for music events and festivals.

    The bus pulled away as Sora pocketed his hands in his bomber jacket and managed a small, relieved sigh. The tension lifted, only slightly, but he was certain he'd be back to his usual self once he was behind all of those darkened windows. He wasn't particularly inclined to be seen on this street by anyone who might recognize his face.

    With the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up, Sora tugged his backpack straps closer and crossed the street. He jogged up to the curb and slid into the alley beside the club where his key slotted into the door next to the dumpster. The brick walls were all damp from the fog that morning and Sora could feel it on his chilled fingers as he pulled on the door handle and slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind him.

    Down the long, dingy hallway, a head popped out of the lockroom door, the curtain swinging aside. Sora recognized that head of blonde hair instantly—Charlie Davis.

    "Oh, it's just Sora," Charlie said, disappearing once more.

    Sora's blood boiled, fists clenched at his sides. "There's no 'just' about it! I know you missed me!" he cried, rushing to the room. He ripped the curtain aside only to find that Charlie hadn't gone anywhere. Their foreheads collided instantly.