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She wakes up in a train compartment, certainly not at her own station. It's late (not that one can tell in a metro tunnel) and she can mostly tell from the absolute lack of passengers and the softer lights. Even Sam, the metro guard posted on the line, is asleep.
She checks the subway map- fuck , she is far, and it'll probably take her till morning to get back. She's resting her head on the seats ready to try and get some sleep at least when someone taps her shoulder.
It's a boy (probably) around her age, perhaps younger who's clutching onto the railings even with dozens of empty subway seats, a rarity. He doesn't look too shifty, and even if he is, she's got weaponry and a guard she could wake up whenever, so she indicates to the booth opposite her and he smiles gratefully, sitting down and placing a small backpack. He's dressed alright, yellow tee, jeans and a trenchcoat with a beanie doing its best to encompass all his wild curls with a guitar slung across his back and he grins, again, when he slides into the booth and extends a hand, saying--
"Hi. He/him, please." And she knows what pronoun sets are, so she responds-
"Hullo. She/her, then." They don't give each other their names, and the boy opposite her seems to be grateful for this, he takes off his guitar, sliding it into the corner and starts tapping out a rhythm. He hasn't fallen asleep on the train, she knows, as he fidgets around with his hands, the knobs on the separators and eventually, with enough creaking-
" Oi , what choo doing here?" Says a kid, no older than eight at best and both she and the boy (man?) opposite her recoil at the house disturbing the stillness of the unmoving but wholly moving subway car.
"I had to leave." offers the man, and judging by the camisole straps visible from the t-shirt and the obvious slouch and the purposeful deepening of his voice it's fairly obvious why. Niki doesn't comment. The kid shrugs and hops on next to the man and looks at her, pointedly. It's more intimidating than any kid their age has the right to look.
"O-oh. I overslept. My station's not going to be here till morning." The kid nods and pulls their jacket closer around themselves- it's woolen, a sweatshirt with a white torso that looks ochre in the yellow lights and red hood and sleeves, with a well worn pair of jeans, visibly patched up by a kid and bright yellow wellies, that look like they haven't been wet in weeks. His hair is disheveled, a bit long in the back. She worries for the kid.
"Why are you here, then? We told you." She asks, doing her best to be gentle. The kid looks up at her, taking in her electric pink hair, once in space buns but now in some strange sort of pigtails, waist-tucked in t-shirt and high waisted jeans with the biggest pockets she could alter on and patched everywhere with tourist patches, the only thing really available.
He shrugs. "’Ve never been anywhere else." Okay. They sit in comfortable silence again, the kid kicking their legs under the seat, thump thump thump with the man's tap tap tap and her own click click click of the nails on plastic seats.
"What are your names, anyways?" Asks the kid, and she and the man look at each other and shrug.
"You can call me Pinky, I suppose." She answers and the kid lights up, testing the new name in his mouth. It's endearing in a way that her little brothers are, sticky-faced and rolling in the pastures of the old castle grounds.
"And you, guitar boy?" The kid pesters the man, who hums, thinking.
"What about… Jared?" He asks, probably jokingly, and the kid laughs.
"Oh fuck no- that's the name of this guy who's a real creep with his girlfriend who goes to college in car three." the kid replies, wheezing in laughter. It sounds so absurd, hearing this runt curse like a sailor and talk about creepy bastards, but he also apparently lives here, so it's funnier and they laugh, the man jotting something down into his hand with the pen from his pocket.
"Uh, how about Soot, instead. After my city." Soot proposes again, and she nods, smiling and the kid claps their hands.
"Well, you lot can call me Tracks then! I'm a big man." Funny coming from the runt, but sure.
"It's bloody cold in here," Soot starts after a few moments, wrapping his coat tighter around himself, and he's right- it's cold as shit. Tracks seems unbothered.
"Never felt anything else."
"Nearly as cold as my city, when the smoke blocks out the warmth. Hate it there."
"Oh, why do you hate it so much, Soot?" She means to ask jokingly, but Soot sobers quickly.
"The smog literally gave me asthma, Pinky." He responds, punctuating his response with a cough. She winces.
"Oh, that's bollocks, man." Wilbur smiles at the ‘man’, at least.
"Total bullshit." Agrees Tracks who, living in the subway probably knows exactly what asthma is. Soot nods, leaning his head on one hand.
"Yeah. 'ts why I smoke, y'know? It's the only tar I want in there." Fuck.
She hums as well, looking at the white plastic wall. "I dye my hair to be remembered. 'm from a castle-town, with the old palaces and money and grandeur and exploitation and in the end the touries see me as another commodity in the tour package. It pisses me off." She doesn't mean to rant, but Soot takes her hand and Tracks nods, sliding into her end of the booth to play with her hair, long and pink and soothing the rage she can never truly leave behind.
"Well, if it helps, you're always Pinky to me." Soot says, and it does feel better. She smiles. He does too.
"There are two lads who come here every Tuesday. I don't know their names, but they have a very old pet pig they call their son and play with me, and I think I'd leave the train tracks, just to see them.”
“I'd like a name of my very own, I think." Tracks says quietly, nearly a whisper and Soot scoots into their booth to hug Tracks, and by extension, her and it feels very nice. They all might just melt a bit, in a cold compartment with strangers who don’t really feel like that, not anymore..
It's fine- it's not as if anyone else will see this. Sam the train man is still fast asleep and this car is fucking deserted.
Suddenly, she gets an idea. A very good one. "Let's raid the food trolley for coffee, Soot. We'll be up till sunrise anyways." Soot brightens, and hoists Tracks onto his back, making his way behind her to the previous compartment. Nobody there. Score .
There's instant coffee powder and room temp water bottles and it is cemented that she and Soot are the same age because that's all they need. Tracks looks on, looking vaguely sick, so they give him a juice box. He accepts and starts slurping happily, along with the chicken sandwich. She and Soot split a dry pot noodle, leaving the cash behind on the counter. They eat and sip gross instant coffee and share little things about themselves, like how Soot really likes music and wants to make an album and she loves baking and Tracks has an absurd fascination of old-fashioned CD'S but also just likes music so Soot takes out his voice memos app and she her earbuds sharer and they listen to drafts of Soot's songs and Tracks is so excited that it makes her heart ache.
This is the kid of joy that she hasn't experienced in years, maybe ever, wrapped up in a rage too strong for anyone at home to pull off. Somehow, an eighteen year old musician and a ten year old with a shit haircut have managed to almost erase that anger, even if only for one night.
Eventually, the lights return to normal however and Sam wakes up, admonishing Tracks for being up so late and thanking them for looking after him. It's funny.
Her hometown is only seven stops away when she and Soot trade phone numbers and discord tags and name the contacts 'Pinky' and 'Soot' and don't tell each other their actual names even after the whole night.
"Y'know, it's weird that I've only known you lot for a night, and you know me better than anyone else." Soot states into the car, words sticking to metal walls.
"Mmhm." She agrees.
"I wish this didn't have to end." Whispers Tracks into the light, and the thought of this ending, this friendship with people she doesn't know the name of and they don't know hers and the thought of the end physically hurts , almost, so she acts on impulse.
She nicks Soot's pen and opens her pocket notebook, scribbling down her new address and handing it to Tracks. He clutches it like it's made of gold.
"I'm leaving the castle-town." She admits. Soot beams. "And going to live in this new seaside town near a really pretty sailor, Puffy." Soot's laughing at her, she knows it. Fuck him. "So if you ever decide to leave the train tracks," she and Tracks make direct eye contact; "You can call me, okay? Or Soot. Tell us the boy's names and why they like that pig so much. Pick a name."
Soot finishes for her. "This way, this doesn't have to end, okay?" Tracks is nearly crying so they scoop him up as the train grinds to a halt, her stop coming up.
"Well, that's me. Keep that safe, okay? I move in a month."
"Let's make a pact- next time we're together we'll tell each other our names." Decided Tracks, and they agreed, gathering bags and giving hugs.
And with that, she goes, looking out for her new friends till she can't see them anymore.
Niki 'Pinky' Nihachu starts the walk to her family house with a little less anger and a stupidly intricate braid in her hair.
Wilbur 'Soot' makes it to his friend's house safe and sound, with a large weight off his chest and a motivation to perhaps stop smoking.
Tracks finds a name- Tommy Tracks Innit and bids farewell to Sam after another month picking up shit from stations, leaves the tracks with a well-kept piece of paper.
…
Three months later, Niki has just gotten back from her second date with Ship Captain Puffy after lunch with her crew: Dream, Foolish and Eret. It was a hair dyeing session and Niki got the same wild pink (perhaps she keeps it that way so that someone or two could recognise her) while Puffy split her hair in two- red and white. She's settling in for a night with The Office reruns and popcorn when her doorbell rings.
She goes to the door, ready to ward off solicitors. She's met with two very familiar faces instead.
She smiles. Extends her hands out to the boy in unused wellies and the man with the guitar.
"Hi, I'm Niki 'Pinky' Nihachu."
"Wilbur Soot, present and voting." Wilbur answers, doing a two-fingered salute, grinning.
"Hello! Big man Tommy Tracks Innit here!" And they laugh, because they're together again at last.