Chapter Text
a rusty engine revs. seats shake.
the gold of the sunset is streaming in through the window and almost blinding you, but you’re not bothered to draw the tattered bus curtains closed. what time is it? 6PM? 4PM? you know the sun’s been setting earlier now as the autumn months go on, but you’re so disoriented (from resting your head on the cool glass of the window, accidentally dozing off and being jolted awake by the shaking of the bus practically drilling into your skull) that you can’t even tell.
you don’t take notice of the shuffling down the aisle of the bus as you let your eyes drift closed again. it’s monday – practically everybody is scrambling for some kind of ride home after forgetting to sort out transport for the week. all you can think of is finally getting home and peeling these sweaty work clothes off, hopping into the shower for a solid half an hour and sinking into your bed. at least, that’s all you can think of until you feel a shadow loom over you and look up to find a figure standing in the aisle (among the few others who weren’t lucky enough to find seats) right next to your seat and grasping the bus-straps hanging from the ceiling as the bus sways every so often.
a rusty engine revs. seats shake.
this is the fullest you’ve ever seen the bus, this same bus you’ve been taking since the start of the semester. for some reason, you can’t stop looking at the guy looming over you, gaze trained in the distance, with a backpack slung over one shoulder. he dons a dull hoodie and strands of his blond hair fall over his forehead and–
he darts his eyes towards you, eyebrow raised, and you don’t think you’ve ever jerked your head away so quickly in your life.
he looks familiar. (a part of your brain is taunting you, you’re only saying that because you think he’s cute. you tell it to shut up).
only when you regain the courage to look away from the window and your heart stops pounding shamefully in your chest do you notice the fact that the seat next to you, the seat closest to the aisle, is occupied by your bag. and you know that if you were someone else, you would be cursing the dumb girl near the front of the bus hoarding an entire seat for a stupid bag when there are people literally standing in the aisle as the bus drives through the early evening traffic.
idiot, the part of your brain from before taunts again, and you ignore it as you reach for the bag and begin lifting it up to your lap. (do you offer him the seat next to you? will he maybe not think you’re a weirdo for staring at him on public transport then?)
a rusty engine revs. seats shake.
and something impacts your lap.
a blond head tilts up at you, brown eyes apologetically staring at you for a moment that seems like it has no end or beginning. and you only realise that the weight planted on your lap is him toppled over, his hands just barely holding him up by the small edge of your seat that you aren’t occupying. it seems to take him a while as well to realise that what he’s currently hovering over is indeed a person.
“shit,” he mumbles, tearing his gaze away from you and starting to push himself up back upright with the back of your seat, “sorry.” the backpack now slung on his arm just barely hits against your knee as he rises up and he mutters out another apology, now seemingly trying to look at everything that isn’t you as he tries to reposition himself.
“it’s okay,” you blurt out, and you feel your lips tug upwards when his eyes dart down towards you as he finally manages to get his backpack strap on his shoulder again, “uh…wanna sit?” you’re sheepishly offering, your mouth moving before your mind can even comprehend it. you awkwardly move your bag off of the seat next to you, watching as he stares at the now vacant aisle seat like this is a decision that requires his utmost care and consideration.
“um…” he trails off, glancing ahead at the wide windshield as the bus comes to a stop in front of a traffic light, “yeah, sure.” he’s barely even finished the sentence before he’s sliding into the seat next to you, shoving his bag against his feet and slightly knocking his thighs into yours (this guy is jacked, the part of your brain that you are really starting to wish had an off switch remarks when you catch a glimpse of track shorts slightly riding up and when you realise that, if you pay close enough attention, he seems a little big for the seat).
“sorry,” you say after the bus drives on to the next stop, turning your head away from the window to find that he’s already looking in your direction (and failing to make it look like he wasn’t), “i didn’t notice that my bag was on the seat. i was, uh…”
“fast asleep?” he finishes for you, and you only let a small smile spread over your face when an identical one makes its way across his. you bashfully look down at your lap when you think you’ve been staring for a bit too long.
“busy day,” you explain and catch him scratching the back of his neck from the corner of your eye.
“i can relate,” he responds before his eyes zero in on the faded nametag pinned to your uniform shirt, “where do you work?”
“oh, at isabel’s. do you know it?”
“i think i’ve heard of it. it’s near east campus?” he says.
“you go to U of P?” you question. (he did seem familiar, but you really could swear you had never seen him before. maybe because you practically spent half your time at east campus save for a few lectures? judging by how he looks, he’s probably on some team.) he stares at you like he’s trying to figure out whether or not you’re going to let slip that you’re joking, but you just stay looking at him.
“uh… yeah?” he says it like it’s a question, and you swear you can hear him laugh (it’s a nice one, you note. shut up, you say to yourself immediately after). you’re trying to figure out what’s so confusing about your question. he doesn’t stop looking at you and you try to slyly wipe your hands on your lap as your palms grow increasingly clammy. you weren’t looking at him this much before he sat down next to you, right? (right?!)
“right,” you eventually say.
“is your stop still far off?” he asks, filling the silence of the humming bus engine and shuddering plastic seats. you’re surprised he’s still trying to talk to you, considering how he was looking at you not long before. like he was in disbelief that you had missed something that had been shoved right in front of your face.
“uh…” you turn your head to the window before turning it back towards him. you hope he doesn’t notice your eyes quickly drift down to the side of his thigh knocking into yours yet again, “not really. it’s one of the last ones. what about you?”
“mine’s up next,” he answers, and you nod your head, “is that why you’re always on here, then?” he asks. and now it’s your turn to furrow your eyebrows in confusion and let out a shaky laugh.
“how do you know i’m always on here?”
“because you’re always here when i take this bus.”
“you take this bus?” (like, this isn’t a one-time thing where you’ll never have to see him again and he can be just another one of those strangers that you construct an entire life and backstory for in your mind?)
“uh…yeah. like, at least three times a week,” he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you notice how no matter what way he speaks, it feels like he really is meaning to speak to you and not just a stranger on a short bus ride, “did you seriously not notice me?”
shit.
“no– i mean, yes– i mean…i’m usually like…asleep or some shit,” you grasp at an excuse for why you’ve only seemed to have become aware of his existence now, when it’s practically been shoved in your face. (how? you don’t know how you could’ve missed him with his build– and his pretty face– shut up.)
“hey,” and now he’s laughing clearer, watching you worriedly try and find a way to not offend him, “it’s fine. seriously, it’s no big deal.”
“okay,” you say dumbfoundedly. he’s still smiling at you when he inches closer to you and you have no idea why you’re clenching your jaw, but it quickly relaxes when you realise he’s just leaning down to grab his bag from under the seat.
a rusty engine revs. seats shake.
when he rises back up, the bus slowly comes to a stop and you watch him get out of the seat and sling his bag over one shoulder. he looks down at you, the same position from when you were awkwardly peering up at him at the beginning of the journey.
“sorry, again,” he says, “for falling on you.” you shake your head and smile.
“it’s no big deal,” and you wonder if he knows that his smile is nicest when it reaches his eyes, just like it is now when you call his own words back out at him. (and you wonder how exhausted you are from today’s shift to be thinking this of someone you’ve just met. you won’t be surprised if you wake up in a couple of seconds with your pillow nestled beneath your head and drool trickling down the side of your face).
“see ya,” he calls out nonchalantly as he strides down to the front of the bus. when he turns his head back to you to offer you a parting smile, you’re suddenly glad that he takes the bus somewhat regularly. and you have no clue what’s coming over you, but you’re suddenly bending your knees and rising up from your seat, resting your arms on the seat in front of you. you’re also glad that you took one of the seats closer to the front of the stuffy bus. the thought of the number of people that would have probably stared you down if you had started calling out from the back is enough for you to give yourself a pat on the back.
“hey!” you call out, just as he’s about to step out onto the ground. you can hear his steps falter and suddenly he’s leaning back from the exit and peering his head out at you in confusion, “i…uh…i never got your name.”
it takes a second for your words to sink in.
“oh…” he says back, looking like he’s deep in thought. (what is there to even think about?), “that’s because i never gave it.” for someone who was trying to awkwardly fill the silence between strangers just a while ago, he sure looks stupidly proud of himself for his small joke. and he’s still gazing at you expectantly like he’s waiting for you to say something specific back, like he’s waiting for you to piece the puzzle together. you knit your brows together.
“what?”
he smiles and releases an exasperated sigh.
“see you at thursday’s 10AM lecture,” he calls out as he steps out of the bus, and you’re still standing when you hear the hissing of the doors sliding shut and when the bus starts to move again. what? you sink back down to your seat. you don’t have any classes with him… you think.
as the bus drives past the stop, you rest your head against the window only to find the same blond head you’ve been sitting next to walking down the path. eventually, the bus goes past him completely, and you’re left to shift in your seat and try to figure out why this person who’s popped up in your life only today – and only momentarily – is already woven into multiple parts of it. sure, you can understand sharing the same bus. but what are the chances that you also share the same class?
like, slim to none. zero. you would’ve noticed. (he’s built like a linebacker, you think, of course, i’d notice.)
a rusty engine revs. seats shake. you watch the scenery pass absentmindedly as the cool glass begins to warm against your forehead. why are you thinking so hard about this?
‘see you at thursday’s 10AM lecture.’
a rusty engine revs. seats shake. the bus reaches your stop, and you have to clamber your way out because you hadn’t noticed until the very last second. the part of your brain that has been constantly interjecting itself into your thoughts since the moment you’ve stepped onto the bus is louder now, forcing you to deal with the embarrassment of your own head.
and you know that it thinks that thursday can’t come soon enough.