The water runs over me, the heat trying to reawaken my sleep-deadened brain. At least outside the mornings weren't foggy anymore, but my mind was another matter all together. The suds slid easily off my skin, foaming and pooling in the bottom of my tub, waiting to be sucked away into oblivion. I watched them absently, lost in my thoughts as I continued to wash.

Six months had not only changed my life, but the lives of two others who I wouldn't have given up for anything. After a couple days, they had both left, and I hadn't had the honor of their presence since. Of course, I could see it on the telly, read it in the paper, but I missed them, the one with bright sapphires who's company I held for three years, and the one with deep emeralds that I only knew for a few days.

Drying myself off, I take a look at myself in the mirror, seeing how I too have changed over the months. I don't think in any means that I'm happier than I was that day, but I look like a different man, far different from the quiet artist who haunted the coffee shops of San Francisco waiting for the perfect drink, and the perfect subject. No, here there is sand and warm water, and enough sun to suit anyone.

Why did I move to Australia? God if I know, but I had adapted well enough. My accent was still hit-and-miss, but at least I didn't have the dark and depressing vibe around me all the time.

I take a look at the clock while pulling on my faded twill trousers, grumbling under my breath. 8:20 am, and I wasn't out the door yet. I guess my sense of time had gotten knocked off during the move too, but I still made it a habit to do my artistic duty to society.

By 8:30 I am locking the door, pencil and sketchbook under my arm as I set off down the block for my morning cup of coffee. It's a Friday morning, but it still seems like everyone is laid back, not in any real rush to be anywhere. I love these moments, just a smile and a wave without the worry of being shot or mugged. Brisbane is great for that reason, well, parts of it anyway.

I glance at my watch at Mark gives me an upnod. 8:37 on the dot, and I sigh thinking back to the 'old' days when someone else would be walking in at that time. I take my mocha from the counter, moving to my usual seat just off to the side. By 8:41, I open my sketchbook as I cross my legs, laying the book down on one knee as I look for inspiration.

I move a little bit to get a better view of the room, and all the customers getting their morning go-juice. My eyes drift towards the whispering of two men in the back corner, hidden mostly by shadows. From this angle, I can't tell who they are, but I don't remember them being regulars.

I sketch the table, light circular lines taking shape in the middle of the page. I start from the bottom, etching in outlines of sneakered feet, up the legs, one in denim and the other in khaki. I draw the chairs, almost stool like holding them up. One slouches down over his cup, the other sits up, a cigarette in between his fingers. I can see the ash falling lightly from the end as he moves it around, lividly using his hands to express whatever point he is trying to make.

The shadows get darker as I move up, so I just start shading, using it as a guide to where the light parts will be put in. A few strands of hair, a streak across a shirt, lightened tones dancing in their eyes. It is all I can see from here, but the sketch is turning out better with every stroke.

The smoker stamps out what is left of the 'death stick', his companion sitting back for a moment to stretch. As he moves, the light changes, and I catch a better glimpse at his face. I stop sketching, only watching again as he says something, both sets of eyes suddenly turning to me.

I remember those eyes, three years and a thousand sketches worth of memories that are coming back to me in a flood. His hair has been changed again, still the natural dirty blonde, but shorter this time. The other, as I notice now, hasn't changed a bit, still holding on to his characteristic hairstyle and fashion.

All three of us sit in silence for a moment, almost sizing each other up again to see what has changed, if anything besides the surroundings. After a second, the quiet is broken, letting them fall back into whatever conversation they had started.

Realizing that the moment is over before it really even started, I go back to work at a fever pace, not knowing when they plan to leave, if they plan to leave. With my memory helping, I add more detail to the darkened areas around their faces, bringing out more of the needed emotion. I go back, more creases in the shirts, laces on the shoes, rings on the fingers and in the ears.

I sketch the coffee cup between his hands, the ashtray in the middle of the table, another cigarette balanced perfectly on the edge, waiting to be lit. They both look at it, one debating and the other giving the familiar talk about how he was throwing his life away. Both expressions change as it is put back in its pack, the other stuffing it into a pocket along with his lighter and whatever else.

I turn to my watch as a quick reassurance, only to find it drawing ever closer to their usual leaving time. I rush into the background, the light texture behind and around them. I can tell they are running out of idle chit chat, something I suppose they started so I could have enough time to finish, but I don't want it to end again.

At 9:15, they both get up, sapphires meeting mine in the usual questioning gaze. And as always, I slowly nod, letting him know that I am as finished as I can be in the time I've had. I sigh under my breath, not wanting to let them go again, I have missed them so much. You can't connect with a reporter's story, can't connect with some layer of ink on cheap paper.

Would it be another six months? Maybe longer until I would see them again. My life had changed that much, that I missed being able every morning to have for certain someone ready and willing, another emotion to bring to life for the countless that would see it later on.

I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder, asking silently for attention to be paid. Placing the pad on the table, I turn to meet him again. He pulls me to my feet, hugging me tightly as the other stands close by, his million-watt smile lighting the room.

"It's been too long, just too long..."

"Six months Darren, but I'm glad things are finally turning for you two."

"Daniel wanted to come back before the tour starts, remember what life is about before we lose it again."

Daniel nudges him gently, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"I still don't like the idea of touring, but it's better than losing it all over again. I couldn't imagine life the way it was anymore. We both work better being happy."

I smile, remembering the expressions from before, liking the happy ones as well. They look at each other for a second, Daniel reaffirming what he had just said.

"The world is much more interesting with you two roaming it anyway. I'm sure you see it the same?"

"The fans are happy, we're happy, and we will be what we were before, no doubt. We couldn't have done it without you."

"Of course you could, probably would have even if I hadn't of shown up."

"Fate..."

I raise an eyebrow at Daniel, as he seems so far lost in thought. He meets my gaze again, stumbling for the right words.

"It's like fate...but it's you...Everything happens for a reason, and it has brought us back together again, half a world from where it started. Six months ago, my life changed in a way that I will probably never be able to explain, in the same way I'll never be able to express my gratitude for you bringing us back together. For all I know, I would have missed him and not even known."

I hug him, smiling as I pat him on his shoulder.

"As long as it is worth it, don't let anything stop you. Now make me a promise, that it won't be six months before I see you two again. My sketches are starting to look pretty bland without you two to brighten the collection."

We all laugh, sharing one last moment before they would walk out the doors again.

"We'll be here for a week before hell starts again...Maybe we can work something out by then?"

Darren looks at me hopefully, rubbing his hands together like a small child at Christmas.

"What? You aren't seriously thinking of taking me with you, are you?"

"Why not? Perfect excuse to keep sketching, and well, you seem to bring us good luck. What do you say?"

I shrug my shoulders, dropping my hands down to my sides.

"What have I got to lose? Nothing here but bed and coffee anyway."

Darren almost tackles me, Dan chuckling at the sight. Messing Darren's hair, I turn to the table to get my supplies, sliding the pencil into my pocket.

"Well, what are we waiting for? I've only got a week to get ready..."

Together, the three of us walk out the doors, ready to face my own fate, and whatever the world is willing to throw at us.