Instance Ch. 03

His phone vibrated. It was Blake, with instructions on where to meet him for lunch.

"I need to go," said Jackson. "Can we come back to this later this afternoon?"

"Where are you off to so urgently? We just found out the world isn't real!"

She was right. But before this world evaporated, there were things Jackson needed to know. About himself. About his attraction to Blake. About what it'd meant when Blake had grabbed him by the hair like that.

"Jax?"

Jackson's face flushed. "I'm meeting Blake for lunch."

"Seriously?"

"Maybe he knows something. I should find out."

Brooke gave him a look of exasperation. "Right. Yeah, you go drill him... for information."

"Thank you for understanding," he said, with a grin.

She rolled her eyes, and without thinking he pulled her to him and brushed his lips against her forehead. In the same second he kissed her, he realising the gesture might not be welcome and turned on his heel, striding back to his car before she could reject him again.

*

Blake asked Jackson to meet him at a cafe a few blocks from the club. Since it was so close, Jackson parked his car back at the parking garage and walked up, instantly regretting it as he stepped into the street and realised the temperature had climbed up into the low thirties as the sun hit its stride.

Covered in a light sheen of sweat, and out of breath from walking faster than was sensible in the heat, he slid into the booth opposite Blake, who was now wearing a sleeveless red shirt and a pair of blue shorts, his hair styled with product.

Christ, he was a good looking man. Jackson remembered Blake's hand gripping his hair, and the look of amusement in the man's eyes as Jackson had gone still. He reached for the decanter of water in the middle of the table, and dropped his gaze to watch the slices of lemon bob against the glass walls as he poured himself a glass of water.

"Hello?" said Blake, clearly amused by Jackson's discomfort.

"Hi."

You can look up now.

Jackson dragged his gaze up to meet Blake's, and tried to recover the usual casual indifference that'd served him so well up until this moment.

"So, did it go well?" he asked.

Blake held up his hand for a high-five.

Jackson slapped it. "So, you got it?" He grinned.

"Sure did. They offered it to me on the spot."

"Shit!" Jackson was genuinely impressed. "I thought they'd see everyone before they made a decision."

Blake shrugged. "I guess I'm just amazing."

Jackson grinned at him as a waitress came to hand them menus. After she'd gone, Blake took a sip of water. He noticed Jackson's silence.

"Is something wrong? You look like your neighbour's dog just shat on your lawn."

Just wondering if you're real.

Jackson knew he was staring, but wasn't Blake too perfect? His first guy-on-guy action, and it was with this guy? He'd always assumed if he met a guy outside of a threesome, it'd be someone less... attractive. Blake was definitely on the 'holy fuck' side of good looking, wheras Jackson knew he was reasonably attractive, but trending downwards, the longer he spent gaming and drinking on his couch.

"Jax? You're starting to worry me, mate. Talk to me."

Fuck. Should he tell Blake what he and Brooke had found in the field?

No, he decided. It was too soon. He needed to know more before he started telling other people they were living in a simulation. For a start, Blake would just think he was mental, and he didn't want to ruin something that was already too good to be true.

"Sorry." He threw his head back, blinking back tears of honest exhaustion. "I'm just tired. Brooke wanted to catch up first thing, and I drove over to see her. She's still upset from the break in."

"Yeah, fuuuck. Not surprised. Are you banging her?"

What?

Blake took a sip of his water, his gaze locked unwaveringly to Jackson's.

Jackson stumbled for words that didn't incriminate him, and decided lying was pointless, when his attraction to Brooke was obvious to everyone, including off-her-tits Heavenly.

"No, I'm not," he said, "But I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to." He chuckled self-consciously. "We've discussed it. We're friends, but it's not going to be a romantic thing."

He dropped his gaze as he twisted a paper napkin into a long sausage and unrolled it again.

"So I'm your second choice?" asked Blake.

"What? No!" Jackson felt the conversation slipping out of control. "No, you're... unexpected, is what you are."

Blake laughed, and his tone softened. "It's just... it's not often I meet someone I really like, who doesn't mind my status. And before you ask, 'Aren't there lots of other poz men out there?'—yes, there are. Emphasis on the 'like'."

Jackson lifted his glass and took a swallow of water, feeling the other man's gaze hot against his face.

He likes you.

Big deal. Most people liked him when they met him. It was maintaining their respect over time that he struggled with.

He picked up his menu and started flicking through the stained pages.

Blake grinned down at his own menu. "So, there's nothing else you want to tell me?"

Jackson kept his gaze on his menu. "Not that I can think of."

"Ookaay then."

Jackson read the menu without seeing any of the words. All he could think of was the note in his pocket, lit in an empty field by its own god ray.

"You know what you want?" Blake asked.

"Give me a sec," he mumbled.

Blake nudged his leg with his foot. "Seriously, what's up?"

Jackson looked up. The Blake looking back at him was not the shy guy he knew from group. The man looking at him across the table was perfectly confident, as if he knew something... as if he knew something Jackson didn't.

What if he did know? What if he was a player in... whatever this was? What if only Jackson and Brooke were clueless?

"I'm fine. Just. Not hungry."

Pinned under Blake's gaze, he took another sip of water and willed the waitress to come back to their table.

That was when he grew aware of a hum. A low vibration under his feet, joined shortly by a high static hiss. Something reflected off his water glass and he glanced up. His jaw fell open. Behind Blake was a maze of tessellated interlocking diamonds, pulsing and running into each other like an image trapped between two mirrors, trailing off into infinity.

"What the fuck..." he whispered.

"Jax? What's wrong?"

Jackson couldn't look away. The movement of the pattern caught his gaze and held it, sucking him down into that perpetual motion.

"Jackson? Jackson, mate, talk to me!" Blake dropped his menu and put a hand on Jackson's wrist.

Jackson couldn't feel his touch.

He stared past Blake, breathing in gasps, pain lancing through his head as the pattern oscillated faster and faster. He thought he could make out a figure in the shapes, drawing out of a multitude of black and white lines, fading into focus like a magic-eye image—and then with a crunch, Jackson felt something in the back of his nose explode.

Blood flowed down his face in a hot flood, and Blake grabbed up a paper napkin and lurched across the table, pressing it to his nose.

"Head back, head back!"

Still holding the napkin in place, Blake got out of his seat and circled the small table.

Jackson put a hand over the other man's to hold the napkin against his nose, while beyond them both, the patterns continued to pulse and oscillate. Jackson stared up at Blake, the taste of metal in his mouth.

"You're okay, mate, you're okay," Blake murmured.

But Jackson wasn't okay. His heart was slamming jagged blows against his ribcage as if it was trying to tear itself free, and he was growing light-headed. He knew all eyes in the cafe were on him, and tasted the other patrons' murmured words, disjointed syllables that no longer had any meaning.

Their words drifted into his open mouth like tasteless candyfloss, cloying, dusty, like inhaling a wad of fibreglass insulation.

The pain in his head ratcheted up to sledgehammer, and a long tone sounded in his ears.

I'm going to pass out, he thought.

And he was right.

*

He woke on the floor of the cafe to a ring of concerned faces, and struggled to sit up.

"You okay?" Blake asked.

He nodded, and the other man handed him a glass of water. He took a sip, then pushed the glass away and did his best to get to his feet.

Blake helped steady him. "There's a cab outside. I called Ian. He's expecting us."

Jackson looked around, and was grateful to find the world was back to the way it should be.

He followed Blake out to the cab, the daylight sending a burst of pain through his skull, and climbed into the cab.

As they pulled up outside Horatian. Ian and Lucas, the club's chef, met them outside.

Jackson staggered, his knees weak, and Lucas put an arm around him to support him, the bigger man taking Jackson's weight easily.

"We'll take him from here," said Ian to Blake.

"Can I come up at least?"

"The club's closed," said Ian. He nodded at Lucas, who started walking Jackson towards the back entrance.

"I'll text you!" Blake called after them, as the back door closed behind them, leaving them in the stuffy heat of a corridor that smelled of old linoleum.

Ian and Lucas took him up in the lift and helped him to his bed.

"Now, keep this napkin against your face for a sec, love," said Ian. He put Jackson's hand over it. "I'll get you some clean toilet tissue."

Jackson pressed it against his nose and wondered what the hell this all meant.

"What happened?" asked Lucas. He folded his arms, which made his biceps bulge out of his black t-shirt.

"No idea," said Jackson, his voice muffled by the paper napkin.

"You okay here, Ian?" Lucas called, and Ian answered as he unrolled wads of toilet paper.

"All good, thanks love."

Lucas gave Jackson a nod, and left him alone.

Ian came back to him, and handed him a folded length of toilet paper. Jackson pressed it to his nose, and then checked for blood. It looked as if the bleeding had stopped at least.

"So, that was a bit worrying," said Ian.

"I just got too hot." Jackson didn't want to tell him what he'd seen.

"And what, was your corset too tight?" Ian said. "Jackson, I need to ask you something, and I want you to be completely honest."

Jackson sat up on the bed, and wiped a thumb and finger under his nose to ensure there was no more blood. He was loathe to promise he'd be honest, without knowing what Ian was going to ask.

"Jackson?" Ian placed a hand on Jackson's leg. Jackson met his eyes. "Are you unwell?"

Jackson looked at him, confused. "I'm fine."

Ian squeezed his leg. "You're not positive?"

Jackson gave him a strangled laugh. "No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes!"

Ian considered him. "Are you a chaser?"

Again, Jackson was confused.

"Are you trying to get infected?"

Jackson blinked at him. "No. Of course not. Don't be disgusting."

Ian's eyes examined the truth behind his eyes. "But you're going to date Blake."

Christ, I can't deal with this.

"I like him. I'm not suicidal."

Ian nodded. He patted Jackson's leg. "Alright. Good. I don't know your past, Jackson, I don't know how you came to be here, at this moment in time, but while I commend your lack of judgement, please, take his status seriously."

Jackson shrugged. The entire conversation was beyond him. "We're both going to be safe Ian, I don't know what else to say."

"Please, please make sure you are." He patted Jackson's leg. "And now, I need you to tell me what happened today. I can't help you if you don't."

"I don't need—"

Ian's hand on his leg tightened. "What do we say at group?"

Don't turn down help if someone offers it to you.

Jackson just wanted to be alone. His head was pounding, his mind was blown by Ian's suggestion he might actually want to infect himself with a fatal disease, and he needed space to think about what'd happened that morning.

"It was a headache. That's all. A headache, and then my nose started bleeding."

He could tell Ian didn't believe him, but honestly? It was more believable than what he'd seen.

Ian nodded. "Fair enough. It sounds like a migraine. If it is, the best thing is a dark room, no noise, and some rest." Ian scooped up Jackson's phone from the bedside table. "I'm going to hold onto this for a few hours, so you don't lie here staring at the screen, making it worse."

Jackson protested, but Ian patted his shoulder. "Don't argue with me, boy. Uncle Ian knows best."

Jackson stared at the older man as he got up and left, shutting the door behind him.

Fuck! Why hadn't he argued with him?

What was it Ian had said?

Uncle Ian knows best.

Uncle Ian. The same name Blake had jokingly given the man. Did they know each other? Were they in it together? Were they part of some other-worldly conspiracy?

Jackson knew his thoughts were coming apart. He couldn't figure anything out while his head was fucked like this. He needed to calm down and think logically, and he needed this fist beating on the inside of his skull to stop.

He took Ian's advice and did his best to rest, and was asleep within minutes.

*

He woke to find his phone back on the bedside table. He sat up gingerly and found the pain in his head was gone. When he checked the time, it was already seven p.m, and getting dark outside.

As he thought back to his conversation with Ian, something occurred to him. He checked his phone again, and found a missed text from Brooke.

'Jax, where are you? Is everything ok? Txt me, have info!'

He swiped his finger to unlock the phone and called her.

"Hey." His voice sounded dull to his own ears.

"I booked us a time with him," said Brooke, before he could say anything else, her voice tight with excitement. "He's being held on remand, and he's agreed to see us. Tomorrow at two p.m."

"That's great," said Jackson. But something was on his mind. "Brooke, what if what's been going on is a virus?"

"A virus?"

"Not a glitch. An intentional virus. Fucking up the software while we're plugged into it."

"You think someone wants to kill us?"

"I think either I'm going mad, or someone wants to hurt me, yeah."

He told her what'd happened at lunch.

"Do you think Blake's in on it?" she asked.

"I don't know." Jackson was too tired to think about it. "I just know, I don't trust anyone anymore."

"Except me?" she said.

"Yeah." He grinned. "Except you. Whoever you are out there."

"Do you want me to come to you?" There was kindness in her voice that made him pause before he automatically turned her down out of politeness. He would never have dared to ask, but now that she'd mentioned it, he craved her company.

"Actually, that'd be nice."

"See you in half an hour."

"I'll ask Ian to buzz you in when you get here."

She hung up, and Jackson fell back against the bed. He turned his phone in his hands, and wondered how this could possibly end well. For either of them.

*

"Jackson, I have a little visitor here to see you!" Ian smiled fondly around the door, as he ushered Brooke in.

"Thanks Ian."

"No problem, sweetie. Be good."

With that, the other man left them alone.

Brooke shut the door behind her and looked at Jackson, who gave her soulful eyes.

"Netflix and chill?" she said. "Literal chill. Well, literal figurative, non-euphemistic... well, non—"

"Yes," said Jackson. He laughed under his breath. "It's fine. I'm not going to try and fuck you."

Brooke climbed onto the bed and lay face to face with him. "Can I touch you?"

Jackson felt light headed. He nodded.

She touched his jaw, then stroked fingers down his cheek. For a moment, he thought she might kiss him... but the moment passed.

"I just need to be close to someone," she said softly. "The only person I trust right now is you."

Please touch me.

"You got a tablet we can use?" she asked

"Better," he said. "LCD TV right there."

There was one mounted on the wall at the foot of the bed.

They lay sideways on the bed, and Brooke chose to lie behind him. She put her arm around him, and propped her head on her hand so that she could see. He guessed this way, she didn't have to worry about wandering hands. Not that he would have tried to grope her anyway.

But lying there, under the heat of her touch, he felt groggy with contentment, as the movie played on.

Searching for long-range comms.

Searching for long-range comms.

Signal failure on long-range comms.

This time, when he fell asleep, he didn't dream of Ollie.

* * *

He woke to a knock on the door, and realised he was still lying sideways on the bed. He sat up and glanced over his shoulder. Brooke was nestled against him, and at some point during the night had pulled the bedspread over them both.

He felt a wash of affection for her, an affection that seemed out of proportion to the amount of time he'd known her. With it came an overwhelming desire to protect her.

The knock came again. "Jackson? If you're up, we need a spare hand up in the bar. Tom's got himself infected with the man flu!"

"I'll be out as soon as I can!" Jackson called back.

"Okay." Ian's voice held the same tone as a parent asking their son to clean his room. Now.

He climbed off the bed, feeling irritated. It wasn't as if he was up to working in the goddamn bar.

Only... he was, actually. His head was clear, and he felt energised.

She recharged you.

"Brooke?" He patted the bed.

"I'm awake," she said. "I'm just not ready for the sense of sight yet."

He grinned. "I'm going to shower and get myself sorted. Are you okay here?"

She let out a long moan in response.

"I'll take that as a 'fuck off'," he said, and shut himself in the bathroom.

When he came back out in a towel, she'd pulled the covers over her head. He got dressed, then dropped a kiss on her covered head. "I'll make sure I'm there for two."

"Okay. Go away now," she said, in a sing-song voice.

"Going now." He chuckled to himself as he headed off down the corridor.

He found Ian in his office.

"Jackson? Good, good. Yes, sorry I haven't had a chance to spend much time with you yet, but today you'll need to learn some bar basics."

"I have served behind a bar a few times," said Jackson. It was practically a rite of passage for coming down to this part of the world, and he'd visited long before he'd moved out to Australia. "I just don't know how to do anything more complicated than pouring a Guinness."

"Not big on cocktails, our clientele," said Ian, his eyes on his computer screen. "I'm sure you'll be fine." He looked up. "So, Brooke stayed the night?"

"Yes," said Jackson, wondering where this was going.

Ian smiled. "Good."

"Why?" There was something in the older man's voice that made Jackson wary.

"And Blake, the night before that?"

Jackson nodded. "Yeah. But—" he could see Ian gearing up for a lecture, "—before you say anything, Brooke's just a friend, and Blake and I were safe. He doesn't want to do anything until I go on PrEP."

Ian frowned. "Is that really something you want to do?"

Jackson let out a frustrated sigh. "I don't know! To be honest, I haven't had a chance to think about it."

I don't even know if he's real.

Ian considered him. "You know, you're a good looking boy, Jackson."

Boy?

"You're going to get hit on here a lot. I guess, what I'm saying is, you have options."

Jackson was getting annoyed now. "And what, he's not a good option because he has HIV?"

"He's an option. I just don't want you throwing yourself at the first person who shows interest in you, because you're—"

"What?" Jackson said. "Lonely? A recovering addict who's not that great at the recovering part? Barely able to look after myself? Such a fucking catch. Look, Ian, with all due respect, I don't need you telling me who I can fuck."