It was just before noon when Jack managed to drag himself out of bed. By one, he was holed up in his corner in the library stacks. He needed to get to work on the website for Missy's baker friend, and he felt like shit. For once, it wasn't because he was hungover. By some miracle, he'd been too worked up by Kieran's text and his commitment to meet up to do anything more than drink half a beer and stare at the ceiling.

Once properly set up, Jack pulled up a local news station's website and looked through the headlines, hoping to get himself distracted enough to get into a decent headspace for working. He paused as he came across a reported fire in a richer neighborhood the morning before. Schadenfreude took over, and he clicked the link.

He didn't recognize any names as he skimmed through the article. Just some accountant found dead in his burnt out house.

He paused at a before and after photo of the house. There was something familiar about the front gate. The longer he stared at it, the less familiar it felt. He must have seen it in passing or a similar one in front of another house.

Curiosity got the best of him, and he pulled up a street view of the address. He clicked around, checking out the other side of the street, and his heart stopped. In the middle of the screen was a ritzy Cape Cod-style house. It had an ornate wrought iron gate, and a pair of stone lions guarding the front door. On Halloween, the lions would be dressed up in costumes and adorned with large googly eyes.

He shook as he panned to the next house, already knowing there would be a large fountain on the front lawn. The next house had perfectly trimmed rose bushes and an ugly garden gnome with sunglasses. The sign the gnome held was too small to read, but Jack knew it said "I'm with stupid" and pointed to the house with the fountain.

He knew that street. He knew those buildings. He'd seen them so many times. Why couldn't he remember the street name or how to get there? He had memories of everything else on the street but the burnt out house. How was that even possible?

The squeaking wheel of a book cart pulled his attention away, and he quickly ducked his head as he got his breathing under control. He stared at his keyboard as his heart slowed back to a normal pace. Frowning at the keys, he ran his fingers over them. Why was he panicking?

He looked up, preparing himself for the worst, but just saw an image of some pretentious house with an overly groomed lawn. He recognized the street, but couldn't recall why he'd been looking it up. He closed the tab and gave the news article a quick once over. He could vaguely recall reading it.

He came to the conclusion that one of the houses on that street had burned down. How sad for the poor rich people. He closed his browser and stretched before starting his work on the bakery website.

As he worked, he couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something. He had his keys and phone sitting reassuringly next to him. He checked his texts and email, but nothing stood out. He hoped it wasn't something important.

Jack glanced at his phone again. He still had time to bail on his date. He bit his lip as he grabbed his phone and shot Kieran a text.

( sry gotta bail >

( working on website n wanna finish >

He set his phone aside and tried to focus on the doodle the baker had drawn up. What sort of reply would Kieran send? Would he catch Jack in his lie? It wasn't a lie. Not exactly. He would be working on the website for more than a week, and he would like to get that day's work done. It wasn't a flimsy excuse if he was actually working.

His phone buzzed with the promise of an incoming text, and he wished he'd done this in the bathroom. He'd rather be busy throwing up than find out how Kieran dealt with disappointment.

He managed to ignore his phone for about half an hour before giving in and checking the reply. He told himself enough time had passed, and checking his phone had nothing to do with the fact that he couldn't type out a simple hyperlink.

The joys of monetary obligation. I completely understand, my sweet. Would Sunday be better?

No cussing, no derogatory language. Just an offer to reschedule to an even later date than what Jack had been planning. There wasn't a second text, asking for an answer. Even Tara would send him random punctuation if she thought he was taking too long.

( suns k 6 still good 4me >

He read over their small conversation. He was a text gremlin, incapable of stringing two coherent sentences together. He sighed and added Kieran as an official contact. After typing out Kieran's name, he decided against it and put "Kiki" instead. He then deleted their current conversation as paranoia slowly crept over his spine.