Chapter Text
POV Matt Tuck
My workday finished a long time ago, but nobody was going to let me go. The nurses were coming in waves with everlasting heaps of medical records accumulated today. Barely had I shoved them in the boxes, as another nurse showed up and threw me another heap on the table with some sort of resentment. Ah, and I was going to pick up the records for the next day... I refreshed the program yet again and printed out the lists of patients, while also trying to fill the boxes with the ones that got brought to me asap, but the heaps didn't get any smaller. I was buried under these papers. Sometimes I feel like Cinderella who can't go to a ball. As soon as she thinks she's done, her stepmother and a string of evil stepsisters find her a new task.
I barely finished by 8.30 p.m... Even though I work till 7. But what to do? Friday night. Pretty much used to that. My knees were getting weaker: I had been running around all the three floors and down to my basement along a steep spiral staircase of the back entrance, plus among iron shelving units the whole day. I was getting dizzy. A "great" nasty addition to my work besides deafeningly screaming children from the physical therapy, spiteful callcentre inhabitants, splinters, papercuts, and my fingers pricked by staples. Alas, that's my job in the archive of the biggest clinic in the neighbourhood.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead, having gathered the piles of the new records and brought them to the first floor, fixed the shoelaces, threw on my leather jacket, and went outside. The air was cool, but pleasant. Just what I needed mid-September in Wales. Even though it's colder in my basement than outside, so I had to warm up in the evening while standing at the bus stop.
I'm Matt. Matthew Tuck, to be exact. I'm 24. I live in Bridgend, Wales, in a small suburban flat, so I have to commute by bus for an hour. Though... I got used to that. I work for peanuts, but that's enough to stay afloat. Well, this almost looks like a dating site bio. Whatever. Moving on, single, not really looking for anyone. Got the first tattoo done at 15. Now pretty much my whole left shoulder is inked. Got my ears pierced at 16. A couple years ago, I dyed my hair black, so in the mornings I look like Samara Morgan with my long hair and ashy skin (and what do you want from a guy who literally doesn't see the sun in summer?). I have weirdly blue eyes. I'm not even going to describe the hue because I'm not an artist. Generally... I'm an average guy, just keen on heavy music, "maiming" my body with tattoos (thank, nurse Michelle from the dermatology department), and working in this stupid place.
The bus stop was pretty much empty, but for a single guy there. I just watched as he chewed on M&M's for some time.
"Want some?" he asked, offering me a bag of it.
"B-but w-we're s-strangers," I stuttered a couple seconds later.
"I'm not greedy," he shrugged his shoulders.
Still, I decided not to take the drops, even though I kinda craved for them. But what if he was some maniac? Mixed something nasty in, so I'd get drowsy, then he'd drag me into the bushes and rape. Or kill. Or rob. Or strip me naked and leave there lying. Or maim me beyond recognition. Though, he didn't look like a maniac at all. Just an average guy like me, wearing a black hoodie, probably, slightly bigger than it should've been. I felt like he was eyeing my back... Just don't turn around. Or... what if he'd strangle me from behind? Or push me under a car? Or stab? Damn, I'm such a paranoiac! I gave him a side-eye and took a seat next to him. The guy was looking in front of himself. So, he wasn't ogling me. But I'm a pa-ra-no-iac!
It didn't take too long before my bus arrived. The guy stood up from the bench and got on first. Even better: I was riding along with a maniac! Dream came true! But what to do? He paid and went inside, somewhere in the middle, then sat by the window. For some reason, I sat with him and saw that he was holding a leather backpack with pretty much rubbed-off pins. Well, suppose he wasn't carrying any chopped off extremities of his victims, otherwise it would slosh terribly, and then blood would pour out through the stitches... Perhaps, he was also going home? Or visiting someone? Or his girlfriend, and then they'd have a slap-up dinner, love, and kisses?
"Oh... hey," in the end, he turned his face to me.
"H-hi," I was stuttering again like a dunce.
"How're you?"
"F-fine. And y-you?"
"Not bad. Where are you going?"
"To the suburbs. You?"
"Basically, to the terminal."
As far as I knew, that very "terminal" was in the other town. If it took me an hour, he needed three-ish. Poor guy... But that's convenient: he could take a nap, grab a bite, listen to some tunes, think over his dinner...
"I'm Matt," I blurted out all of a sudden (oh God, what a dunce I was! He didn't even ask).
"So am I."
"What do you mean?"
He grinned widely and sneered.
"I'm also Matt."
What are the chances? Matt and Matt. Kinda funny when you call one, but comes the other. Silly joke. I'm just a king of silly jokes, I know. That's why I don't have friends: they run away whenever I try to tell a joke.
"Why are you going to the countryside?" I blurted out again. Shut up, you stupid curiosity voice! Just go and shut your piehole!
"Hm? Countryside? You know... Going home for a weekend."
"How? Where do you live on the workdays, then?"
He didn't answer and smiled. No, he couldn't have been homeless: he was dressed up neatly and not skinny. Maybe, in some hotel? Or at his relatives'?
"Still?" I pushed on. That's my worst trait: I'm going to ask until I get what I want.
"In a flat."
"And what's in the countryside?"
He smiled again. I wonder if he was getting fed up with my weird questions.
"A cabin."
"Not a town-dweller, are you?"
"Not really."
"Are you a maniac by any chance?" I gave a suspicious side-eye to his hoodie. The bus filled with his loud laughter.
"Me? A maniac? Jeez, you've cracked me! Yes, I am. M&M's had a Mickey Finn. I was going to drug you and take your... Erm... Your shoes, I guess."
I also started laughing.
"Why do you need them, though? All the more, in this condition?"
"Because converse shoes are the best. Especially, when they are warm and well-worn. Have you never seen shoe-maniacs? They kill their victims for the shoes, then put those on the shelves, and admire them."
"Please, stop cracking me up, my cheekbones are hurting," I covered my mouth with the hand.
Matt gave me a snide smile and leaned back on the seat. I decided not to molest him with my stupid questions anymore and just looked him head to toe. He had light brown straight hair (I'd say, toffee colour), shoulder-length, and his messy side-fringe was covering his eyes. Big light green eyes with pistachio hue. Soft facial features. His ear lobes with strange red lines were poking from under the strands. Matthew was burlier and taller than me, wore that black hoodie, average worn-out jeans, and, I think, also converse shoes, but black ones (mine were teal), less shabby. When he brushed away his hair, I noticed a black leather bracelet with rivets on his wrist. And those pins, as far as I could make out, showed the logos of little-known post-punk-hardcore bands whose existence I could only imagine.
"Are you into metal?"
"Hm? Yeah, I'm into anything heavier than rock. But as an exception I can go for the classical music. You?"
"Me t-too..." I got a bit flabbergasted because there was no way two pretty much similar people existed.
In this sudden silence we reached my stop. I hesitated to leave Matt, but... I wasn't going to the terminal with him when we knew each other for an hour.
"My stop..." I sighed, standing up.
"See you?" he winked.
"Hope so," I shrugged my shoulders and left.
Twilight had already set. It was even colder, so I shivered involuntarily after the warm bus and hurried home, still thinking that I wanted to see Matt again. But only when I was boiling pasta, I had a fleeting thought that we didn't exchange our numbers, socials, any other forms of contact... I didn't even know his surname. And just typing in the name "Matt" would give, at least, hundreds of thousands namesakes, but only one of them would be the right guy. I wasn't ready to spend a whole day on searching: what if his surname started with a Z? Then what? And what if he didn't have an account? How would I find him?
I froze with a skimmer in my hands and rolled my eyes at my own stupidity. Ten minutes ago I lost the only guy I had fun with in a long time. Who said that Matt would get on on the same stop? When would I have a chance to see him again? I almost over-boiled the pasta, feeling a panic attack kick in: my hands were shaking, palms sweaty, eye twitching, some bitter lump in my throat, shivers down my spine... I freaking lost Matt! I could've missed my stop and ask for his phone number, at least... Tuck, for fuck's sake, you're such a dunce...
I was close to splashing a whole pot of boiling water over my arms, had a hard time straining the pasta, and tried to calm down. Well, sure, he might not get on on the same stop any other workday, but who said that I wouldn't catch him next weekend? Crap, what were these stupid thoughts? I'd never seen him there before... Because usually I didn't care about sorting out the records post my workhours, but my shift'd dressed me down so badly that I'd better stay extra 1.5 hours than blush in front of the boss because I, allegedly, didn't do shit the whole day, didn't even sort out the records. So... There was some chance I'd see Matthew again.