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It might be a little childish, but James always crosses his fingers and asks a God he doesn’t know if he believes in to send one of the new Metro cars with the screen-map and blue seats on his way to school every morning. A little less childish, he also asks for the sharp, pretty boy with black curls and silver-dime eyes to be sitting on the train, too.
James doesn’t need to take the red-line to the city every day, but his parents are two senators who love climate change advocacy and supporting public transportation, so he grew up on the Metro and busses of D.C.. Besides, it doesn’t look too shabby for their campaigns if their son is spotted on the DC Circulator every morning.
Not that people usually watch him, because if they did, the front page of the tabloids would probably be plastered with his doe-eyes when he watches Pretty Boy scribble in his journal or read on the train like clockwork every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Those are James’ favourite days of the week.
Now, it’s 6 a.m. and James is standing with his fingers crossed at the Friendship Heights Metro station, with a backpack full of unfinished homework, when a rickety, old Metro car rumbles into the station.
Damn, James thinks, but all hope is yet to be lost.
Ding, ding. “Doors opening. Step back to allow customers to exit—“
James steps onto the grimey train carpet and scans the compartment.
There he is. James can’t help but smile.
Pretty Boy is sitting with his nose in a book and a pen tucked behind the hearing aid around his ear.
He’s so immersed in his book that he doesn’t notice James plop down on the yellow seat across from him, trying to keep his grin at bay. James can’t help it, the boy’s nose scrunches and his brows furrow when he’s struck by a deep thought, and it’s the most beautiful thing James has ever seen.
James doesn’t know why he chooses today of all days to cross the divide between the left and right aisles, but when the Metro stops at UDC, he quickly hops over to the seat beside the other boy.
“Hi,” James grins. “What’s your name?”
“Oh,” the boy looks startled and a little off-put by James’ chutzpah. “Um… Regulus.”
”What are you reading, Regulus?”
”The Poet X by—“
“Elizabeth Acevedo? That’s my favourite book!”
“Really?!” A wall behind Regulus’ eyes comes crashing down with a glittering gleam that makes James’ stomach flutter. “I’ve never read a novel in blank verse before, but the way she tells Xio’s story is ingenious! I’m at the ‘Rough Draft of Assignment Three’—Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“James,” he says.
“James.” Regulus repeats his name like he’s rolling a sweet on his tongue until he reaches the sour core and grimaces. “Why would you think it’s okay to strike up a conversation with a stranger on the Metro? That’s, like, really weird.”
“Hey,” James pouts. “It was a good conversation. Besides, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I sit across from you like everyday—“
“Not everyday—“
“Oh? You’ve noticed,” James grins.
“No,” Regulus quickly corrects, turning back to his book with a poorly concealed blush.
“Right.” James drums his fingers on his knees beside Regulus, not exactly looking at him, but not looking away either.
Ding, ding.
They pull into Woodley Park, and James clears his throat because he has one more stop until he has to get off, and he wants to ride this wave of confidence until it crashes at the shore.
He taps Regulus’ knee, and Regulus rolls his eyes at him but looks back up.
“Yes?”
“Can I... um—Can I get your number, maybe?”
Regulus narrows his eyes and flicks his gaze over James, and it’s sort of intimidating honestly, but he must pass whatever pop-quiz Regulus just gave him because he puts his hand out and says, “Fine.”
James stares at his hand blankly for a moment, he didn’t think he’d actually get this far when he stepped onto the train this morning, and when Regulus makes a grabbing motion, he says “Oh,” and hands his phone over.
“Hm. No passcode? You’re too trusting,” Regulus says flippantly as he unlocks James’ phone and opens his contacts.
“What’s wrong with being trusting?” James asks, trading phones to put his own contact in Regulus’ book.
When Regulus hands back his phone, the contact reads:
Regulus (from the train)
240-624-4200
“Well, for starters, you shouldn’t have trusted me to tell you when we reached your stop.”
“What?” James had been so caught up in Regulus he didn’t even notice Dupont Circle fly by. “Oh, shit.”
“It’s fine. You can take the 38 from 17th & I to Georgetown if you get off at Farragut North.”
“Oh, thanks—Wait, how did you know I go to Georgetown?”
Regulus doesn’t even answer, he just looks James up and down again, and then it hits him that he’s not only wearing a Georgetown University crewneck, but his branded Lacrosse backpack.
“Right,” James chuckles. “I always get off before you, so I don’t actually know where you’re going. What school do you go to?”
Regulus raises an eyebrow. “I don’t doxx myself on the Metro, thank you.”
The train screeches to a halt at Farragut North, and James scrambles up before he misses this stop, too.
In his hurry, he forgets to say goodbye and panics when he whips around to find the doors closing.
Regulus gives him a small, smug grin through the window and then looks down at his phone.
James’ feels a buzz in his hand only a second later and checks the notification at the top of his lockscreen.
Regulus (from the train): Gallaudet
James pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and smiles as he swipes up to open the message and reply.
He ends up missing the bus, and the entirety of his 8 a.m., but he has a date on Friday with Regulus now so he doesn’t really mind.