Chapter Text
Binx Choppley was a whirlwind of a person. There was really no better phrase to describe them, not with the way they talked a little too fast and were a little too expressive and always carried a bag full of various trinkets and fabrics and tools that let them make or repair things wherever they went.
But it wasn’t just Binx herself, every place she went was quickly marked by this special brand of chaos and business that emanated from Binx, especially the flat she’s been renting for the past 2 months in one of the charming buildings on the Peony Street.
Within the first week of her stay there, the modest interior morphed into a cluttered flat of someone who’s been living there and bringing trinkets in for at least a decade. Shelves filled with second-hand books and a display of figurines with no apparent theme connecting all of them. The wardrobe doors didn’t close anymore, the boxes filled with fabrics and jars of buttons and sketchbooks scattered all over the floor, sometimes growing as high as to her waist and so numerous that it was almost impossible to see what the flooring was actually made of.
For many people living in such conditions would be impossible, or it would indicate that at some point the person lost their control over the things they possessed. But not for Binx. She walked between boxes and stools without hesitation and with a spring in her step, always finding exactly what she needed when she reached inside cupboards, skipping over the wooden toys and picking up bright pink, feathery boa to wrap it around the neck of the dummy standing just left of the middle of the room (the thing already adorned with a plethora of scarves and hats and even a cape with sequins). They felt at home drinking tea from mismatched cups (a different one every morning), looking at the old grandfather clock, frowning, then remembering it doesn’t work and checking her phone instead, only to realise she should have left 5 minutes ago.
Cursing under their breath, Binx swallowed the rest of the tea, almost choking in the process, pulled on the first pair of shoes she could find and match (their socks were mismatched, but nobody would be able to see that), grabbed the bag and sprinted down the stairs.
The colours of the trees outside were dimmed; a courtesy of rain clouds that gathered above the city, rendering the autumnal yellows and oranges into dirtied versions of themselves and making life look in general more miserable. Binx shivered and pulled up the hood of her jacket. It was only a matter of time before the rain would come.
They made their way towards the bus stop, hands shoved deep into pockets and fiddling with some loose coins they found there. At this time of the day, after most people went to work but before the few lucky enough to have a day off woke up, the streets were mostly empty and usually only a person or two were waiting at the same bus stop as Binx. That day wasn’t any different, when they finally got there, a little flustered from a fast walk, there was another figure standing next to the bus shelter. Binx fished her phone out of the bag to check the time.
Two minutes before the bus arrives. She congratulated herself quietly for making it in a record time and watched the numbers on the screen change. One minute until the bus. They started to scroll through social media. And then the numbers changed again. The bus should have been there a minute ago. Two minutes ago. Four.
Great.
Standing in one place was always tricky for Binx, so it didn’t take long for them to start pacing around. A few steps this way, a turn, a few steps back. Despite the chill, they pulled their hands out and started to fiddle with the Rubik’s cube they had from… Somewhere. They didn’t quite remember.
Six minutes. Seven.
With the cube solved, Binx started to absently look around, trying to find something to occupy her brain. There were 8 cars parked on the other side of the street (2 blue ones, 4 black, 1 silver, 1 disgustingly light-green); there was a lady wearing what definitely was pyjama bottoms and walking a Beagle; someone already doodled on the ad plastered to the wall of the bus shelter; the person who stood there, waiting for the bus was wearing a purple coat, so dark that it looked almost black, Binx made a mental note to check what fabric this could be, it would look nice in one of their designs. Maybe she could even make it a part of her midterm project, experiment a little with some new textures or maybe the lightning during the presentation. Oh, thank god, the bus was finally there.
* * *
Time passed, days grew shorter and colder until a day without rain was more of a surprise than the one with it. The strange man in the dark coat became another part of the routine for Binx: every Monday and Wednesday he stood at the same place, always there when Binx walked to the bus stop, always wearing exactly the same clothes. With time they started to notice details about him, cataloguing information just like they did with every other person who frequently appeared in their life.
The lady in the grocery shop always painted her nails in two different colours and the guy from the bus stop had curly hair and wore leather gloves. The neighbours from the top floor always had their postbox full and the guy from the bus stop never wore any scarves, making it easy to spot the tattoo on the back of his neck. He was always the last one to enter the bus and got out of it one stop before Binx. He never stood exactly under the roof, if anything, it looked like he was using the semi-transparent wall to hide from the view of other people waiting there.
It didn’t bother her much at first, but after seeing him stand there, in the rain, with the shoulders of his coat soaking wet, Binx made an effort to communicate as clearly as she could without actually speaking up that there was plenty of space for the man to get out of the rain. She started to stand closer to him, clearing her throat from time to time or moving in his periphery, anything to catch his attention. But the man never seemed to notice, his chin held high but eyes distant, his posture almost stiffly straight, statuesque, but at the same time feeling like it wasn’t just a pose but a habit maintained for so long it became a second nature of his.
(That look on his face was the only reason why Binx didn’t walk straight up to him, as they would normally do. They had to admit that the stranger intimidated them a bit.)
But enough is enough and when Binx woke up one Wednesday to a particularly heavy rain rattling against her windows, she clicked her tongue and rummaged through her stuff, pulling out a small, pastel pink umbrella. Its tie wrap was missing and one of the ribs was broken, but Binx skipped breakfast and managed to fix it just in time.
She marched towards the bus stop, holding her own umbrella with a moth wing pattern and stood right in front of the stranger.
“Here,” she practically shoved it into the man’s hands. Startled out of his thoughts, he almost dropped it and it was the most undignified she had seen him during the last few weeks.
“Wha… Who…” the guy cleared his throat, straightening his back to once again rise to his full height, making Binx lift her chin to meet his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was definitely lower than before, smoother, and Binx couldn’t ignore the feeling that it didn’t sit quite right with the person in front of her. “That’s… I’m sorry, do we know each other?”
“Well, we’ve been taking the same bus every Monday and Wednesday for the last 7 weeks, so I’d say we’re not exactly strangers. Somewhere in between strangers and acquaintances, I guess,” Binx said, picking up the speed with each word leaving her mouth. “I don’t mean it in a rude way or anything, you know? It’s just that you’re always standing pretty much outside the shelter so you’re not getting any cover from the rain and wind and it’s totally fine if you don’t want to stay inside, that’s completely up to you, but you also never bring any umbrella or even a hat and I was worried that you may catch a cold or something from getting wet day after day, you know?”
The stranger stared at them, his mouth slightly agape, eyes wide. For a moment it looked as if he was about to say something, so Binx waited, but as the seconds stretched into a minute and no words were spoken, Binx could feel their cheeks flush from embarrassment.
“I mean, you don’t have to use it or anything, and I get it that this one may not fit your aesthetic or whatever, but it’s probably better than just standing in the rain. Although, again, your choice, and I’m not going to try and talk you into anything and, oh look the bus is here, bye!” they almost shouted the last part, sprinting towards the bus door.
From the corner of her eye, Binx could see the stranger slowly walking inside and glancing at her direction before turning to stand in the back of the bus, as far from her as possible. Binx sighed in relief, turning her attention towards her phone.
When the bus stopped at the stranger’s stop, Binx watched him from the corner of their eye, a task much easier than usual with a pastel pink umbrella opened above his head.
* * *
“It occurs to me, that I didn’t thank you for your kindness, miss…” he paused for a second. “Actually I never learned your name either, did I?” the guy laughed nervously, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.
It was Monday, the rain was lighter but still present, and the man was holding an expensive-looking, black umbrella opened above him, the tip of it bumping into Binx’s umbrella as he approached them.
“You can just call me Binx. No need for ‘miss’, or anything, just Binx.”
“Andhera,” he reached out to shake her hand, a gesture so old-fashioned that it looked both charming and forced when coming from someone like him. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And thank you again for lending me this,’ he continued, pulling the pink umbrella from his bag and holding it out. Binx was sure it has never been so clean or perfectly folded before. “Perhaps some apologies are also in order, for making you feel like you needed to intervene and go out of your way to provide me with a protection from this dreadful weather. It is much appreciated, of course, and whatever I may do to repay this favour… I’ll gladly do. Just name it.”
“Oh, I don’t mind, and you really didn’t have to return it. I’ve got like, 4 others in my place,” they waved a hand dismissively. “And it was a gift, I didn’t do it to get anything in return.”
Something crossed Andhera’s face, a flash of emotion, too quick for Binx to fully recognise them. But the change in the man’s attitude was obvious; his shoulder relaxed, lips curled into a warm, although awkward smile.
“Well, in that case,” Andhera folded his black umbrella and opened the pink one in its place. “I promise to take care of it and use it whenever it’s raining.”