Chapter Text
Call swears as he barely makes it in time to catch the bus.
The driver glances at him, silently beckoning Call to show him his card or he’s out of here. So what if Call just struggled running those blocks to catch the bus, right? He flicks his ID at him after catching his breath, only to groan inwardly. At the sight of all the people in there, he knew he wasn’t going to be lucky enough to have a section of seats all to himself.
He hears someone cough behind him, maybe a swear, and he hurries to find a free seat.
There’s a brief panic of choosing between sitting awkwardly in the middle of two heavy set guys, with bags full of their sports equipment, or next to an older lady barely holding onto her heap of groceries and momentarily trying to calculate which one would be a better arrangement for his leg. He doesn't have to do it for long, though, when he sees one boy move his backpack to his lap, freeing a window seat.
He hesitates, thinking maybe the boy meant to do that for someone else to sit on it, but after glancing around and seeing no one else besides the disgruntled man behind him, he takes it, giving a “thanks” to the blonde boy before settling down.
Call doesn't know how long he’s been out for when he jerks himself awake.
“This your stop?” The voice comes from beside him, making him jump. And then blush because oh god, he can feel a dry trail of drool. He fell asleep on the shoulder of a stranger and drooled. A+ impression as always from yours truly. His look of horror must’ve been a sight as the other boy laughed.
“Dude. Its ok. We’re all tired,” says the boy that Call is now dubbing as literally the nicest kid that has ever spoken to him. “But, really we might want to go now. I think the driver might leave any minute now.”
He barely has time to register the ‘we’ in the boy’s words as the boy stands up and walks to get off the bus, with Call in tow. He’s expecting an awkward silence between them after but all the other boy does is wave him good bye and wishes him a good night. Call mutters out a thanks and sorry before the other starts to walk the opposite way.
It's only from then on does he start to realize how often the other boy rides that bus too.
He catches himself staring at the boy the day after, an empty seat next to him. Call’s not one to be hopeful about anything that comes his way so he awkwardly sits on the seat behind the guy, trying not to make eye-contact. By then someone else takes the seat next to the boy and Call instantly regrets not taking the free seat.
Stop it. You can’t be jealous over a stranger, he chastises himself.
It’s not like Call’s never paid attention to his fellow bus riders before (they’re ok) but like most people trying to catch their 9 am class, he just didn’t have the energy to retain anything past the ride itself. Half the time they’re all collectively looking soullessly towards the front or down on their phones, so really, he’s not to be blamed for not remembering much from his rides.
Except.
Except he’s there throughout the entire day.
He’s there later in the morning, when Call’s got class across campus and he’s pushing his luck with his attendance like always when it comes to Professor Rufus’ Geology class (why his dad, Alistair, thought learning about the meticulous formation of rocks throughout history was a good extra class is beyond Call). Call sees him in a different spot listening to his phone and looking like everyone else that’s on the bus. So he makes a point to not stare at him because 1) he’s probably forgotten the incident from yesterday already and 2) there’s no need to make it more awkward for either one of them.
And 3) definitely no need to remind him about a stranger that fell asleep on his shoulder and drooled.
He’s there again by the front when it’s rush time for dinner and Call’s dead tired, munching on some gummy worms he found in the depths of his messenger bag, just barely registering the blonde boy that glances at him.
By night time, Call calls it quits on his weird one-sided avoidance and takes the free seat he sees next to the guy, and stares out at the window.
He falls asleep again.
To be fair, he should have seen this coming when he tried to stay up until 3 am working on homework due on the same day.
One second he’s staring at the street signs, thinking which homework he’ll coincidentally forget again he has tonight in order to sneak some more play time with his 3DS and good ol’ Pokémon, and the next thing he knows he’s being shaken awake with a familiar voice calling to him.
“Whuah?” he says articulately, the shining example of his B- from English 102 last semester. Professor Milagros would have been proud.
“Our stop,” is all the voice says, with a hint of a smile in it and Call immediately remembers that he had dubbed it as belonging to the nicest person ever and he should totally listen to him.
He’s still in a daze by the time he’s off the bus, waving goodbye to the blonde boy once again.
It’s a hit and miss kind of thing, Call notices, since their bus is almost always full and Call is almost always late getting into the bus. So of course the other boy can’t save a seat for him every time—or at least that’s what Call tells himself when he grudgingly sits two rows back next to an art major carrying massive sketch pads and a ruler that was poking at his head.
Even so, by night time, there always seems to be a conveniently empty seat besides the boy and Call doesn’t ever want to question it if its gets him a chance to rest.
The third time he falls asleep on him, Call has to apologize for real.
He’s insistent about it.
His father may have let him grow up to be sort of a smart-ass, but that didn’t mean he didn’t raise him without some manners.
He almost makes them both miss their stop completely because he’s still trying to get words out but the boy is trying to shoo him towards the door and practically pushes him off. Call is still mouthing “I’m sorry” and wincing to the boy by the time he turns around the corner.
The fourth time, he’s mad and disappointed at nobody but himself. Like usual.
He doesn’t even know the guy but Call all but turned him into his own personal pillow on the bus. The worst thing is, the guy never says anything about it all. Not a single complaint. No, ‘Sorry, but my shoulder is hurting’, no ‘sorry, but I really like this coat, can you not drool on it?’, and definitely no ‘Dude, you’ve got to stop, this is kind of weird.’ He never calls it weird. If it had been Call, anything past the first time would’ve definitely been a no-no. Which makes Call far too suspicious of it all. He’s starting to think he’s doing all of this to beat some sort of world record for being the single most compliant man on local transportation anywhere because if he isn’t, then he’s pretty damn close to beating it.
Call even made a point of arriving on the bus before him on campus that day, allowing the guy the chance to choose a seat other than sitting next to Call or to even apologize properly before the bus’ movements lulls him to sleep. But when he opens his eyes again, he’s leaning on the familiar shoulder once more and he sighs.
He doesn’t know if it’s one of defeat or acceptance, because all he can think of when he wakes up is that he smells nice.
In a flash Call is up and walking briskly off the bus before the boy ever gets the chance to tell him that this wasn’t their stop. He ends up walking three extra blocks to get back to his house that night, and he spends most of it trying to get rid of thoughts of the boy with the fluffy mess of blonde hair that smells of caramel and hazelnut.
That’s it, he needs some proper sleep; he comes to this conclusion after god knows how many times he’s fallen asleep on that boy’s (broad) shoulders and woken up by his (soft) voice. No matter how much Call tries, he falls asleep too easily on that bus ride, and by the time he wakes up, he’s always too embarrassed to stay around too long to talk to the guy properly anymore.
So they’ve let it happen for an entire month.
No talking. No prior agreement.
Just the silent acceptance that Call falls asleep on his shoulder and he wakes him up for their stop.
The entire arrangement reminds Call of something akin to leaving a bunch of pots and pans disorganized in a cabinet and on the verge of spilling the next time it’s opened, but leaving it there nonetheless for the future-you to deal with it.
He doesn’t want to think about opening this cabinet.
One night.
He gets one night of proper sleep and he understands now that normal people do not have a constant throbbing on the back of their head, neck and shoulders nor do they have the constant need to just drop dead and be run over.
“Call, no,” is all Celia tells him when he describes to her his sudden new discovery in their shared Anthropology 101 class, a horrified look on her face.
He pays it no mind it though, because he decides that today is the day. The day he’ll finally stay awake on the bus and properly talk to the boy. He gets on the bus earlier than usual that night, getting a weird look from the bus driver that was so used to seeing Call rush in last minute.
His smug grin lasts only seconds when he realizes that the boy is already there before him, seating by the aisle, with the window seat empty.
So much for surprising him.
Call takes his seat besides the boy, fidgeting and wondering how he could start conversation with him when the bus starts to depart. They’ve just passed two blocks when Call’s plans were, once again, thrown way off course.
But not by his own actions.
The pressure on his shoulder comes to him out of nowhere and the reminder in his head that this was the nicest person ever is the only thing that keeps him from jerking backwards from the contact.
Well, he thinks, this is. Something.
Something being his face burning red, and he doubts it’s from the layers of clothes he has on because it’s winter, but technically being warm is a blessing during winter right? Right.
But that doesn’t change the fact that the boy’s hair tumbles over and brushes against Call’s cheeks and no, no, no, he is not thinking of how soft this semi-stranger’s hair is. He is most definitely not noticing their dark eyelashes, or the small pout of their mouth that opens slightly now and then with each breath he takes.
So, no, Call is not at all blushing over the fact that a cute boy (whose shoulder he had already fallen asleep on multiple times) is right now taking a rest all on his own accord on Call’s shoulders.
If Call was being honest, this was actually the norm between the two of them. Absolutely casual and not at all weird. Especially if Call kind of, sort of, just moved in a little closer. After all, he isn’t going to be the jerk that let his good ol’ bus buddy sleep with his neck in a weird angle.
In fact, amidst his panicking discoveries, Call decides that this is actually better than what he could have ever hoped for.
This is it.
This is how Call can repay his bus boy back. His comeuppance for the entire month of using the boy’s shoulders as his own pillow. This time, he’ll let the boy have time to sleep—which is what any honest college student needs because they were all a little sleep-deprived.
Call could write an entire book on how to completely and royally screw things up in any scenario imaginable. He could make it available for all ages because he’s sure even toddlers have done better than him in life at this point and maybe they’d get a good laugh at his actions. It would go something like this:
Step 1: Make a plan for yourself.
Step 2: Disregard that plan entirely.
Simple and easy. So easy in fact, that Call completes those two steps in a matter of seconds. One second, he’s mapping out his plan of comeuppance, and the next? He’s sleeping right alongside his bus buddy.
He’s woken up not by the boy’s usual voice, but a gruffer one that yells at him from a distance.
“—ast stop. I said, hey, you two!”
He’s blinking and raising his head as he hears the bus driver announce once more: “I said, this is the last stop. You two gotta get off now.”
It takes Call a moment to register the figure slowly waking up beside him as his minds goes over the news.
“What.”
“Last stop, you two are the only ones left.” He says this with a nod towards the open doors, a slight crease on his forehead. Call appreciates that he at least looks worried enough for the two of them but for Call, everything from the neck up of his body is burning, his ears are buzzing, and he thinks maybe that worried look from the bus driver is more for how red Call must have looked rather than the fact they both slept past their stops.
He definitely doesn’t want to look beside him.
Over the rustling sounds of waking up and stretching, Call can hear the boy swivel to look around the bus to gawk at the empty seats. Another beat and Call can’t bear it.
“Dude, I’m so sorry—“
“Sorry I fell asleep—“
Call stops, staring at the other boy, who mirrors his look. Before either one could continue, they hear a cough from the front, a reminder of their audience albeit consisting of only a single bus driver. They hustle off the bus, apologizing to the driver on their way only to receive a strange smile from him.
This isn’t weird, he thinks as the two of them stand still where the bus left them, right?’