Work Text:
She rechecks her wristwatch, 12:34, letting her pupils strain left to read the platform indicator, 12.35. The tote full of moth-bitten books digs into her fingers as she swings it mindlessly. She had attempted to bundle them up in a plastic bag, but the results left a lot to be desired.
The station air is muggy, relentless downpour beyond the stained-glass walls. Her jeans have a wet patch from her umbrella dripping through the netted pocket on the side of her backpack. She knows there's a high chance her notes are going to come with an extra serving of splotched, feathering ink, but finds herself unable to care in this particular circumstance. When a familiar monotone voice announces the train arriving, slightly overlapping the previous one of one going in the opposite direction, she waits a bit longer than necessary before climbing on, then finds an unoccupied section to hog with her useless treasures.
The shutters are already open, so there’s rainwater dripping down the window rails as she fights against her stature to get the books on the luggage rack up top. By the time they’re departing — late, of course — she still hasn’t managed to rid herself of it and actually sit down, her calves straining the longer she holds the tote up.
Horns blare just as someone rushes in, stumbling, onto the pole by the door. Inertia of the moving carriage sends her skirt sloshing against the door with a wet thwap, jumkas¹ in a skirmish with rain-trickling hair. She stands there for a minute, catching her breath. Mattie stands in the space between the seats — holding her lousy stack of paperbacks on her head, as she stares at the stranger. Watches sweat running down her temple, the hydrangeas printed on her skirt. The way she licks her plump, rosy lips, typing something on her phone. Then, digs around for something in her bag, compressing the front of her shirt as she does.
Mattie can’t help the whimper it elicits from her, a pitchy little keen that makes the stranger’s eyes snap up to meet her stupefied gaze. It feels like a stalemate built on the ashes of Mattie’s meager dignity. An asseveration of her already publicised queerness.
She’s so lost in her head about it, weighing the options between making a fortress of shame from her yellowing novels or facing the wrath of the girl to apologise, she doesn’t register her walking into the carriage in the section Mattie stands. She stands a hair’s breadth away, making the previously indefinite difference in their height apparent. She smells of jasmine, and Mattie has to look up to make abashed eye contact. Her hands reach out to the bag on her head, and it’s only then Mattie realises she’s not here to spar with words. Rather, to help, graciously so.
She tosses the bulging tote on the rack like it’s filled with feathers and gives her a slight smile. Mattie falls in love.
It’s two stops between the terminal and takes eight minutes for a train from Victoria Terminals to reach Dockyard Road.
Gowoon always manages to arrive at the station just before the train departs. Skirt fluttering in the wind as she bids Gyuvin a hasty goodbye. She skips the newly arrived train, crossing her fingers as she darts through the men’s compartment to the other platform just in time to catch the pole at the door in the second women’s carriage for the 12:34.
Mattie stands by the railing this time, reading her well-loved copy of The God of Small Things. The carriage is empty, yet she doesn’t budge, left hand flying up to a handle so she doesn’t sway when the train starts moving. She doesn’t look up, but there’s a familiar smirk dancing on her lips as Gowoon approaches her, fixing her unruly hair as she does. She waits until Gowoon stops right in front of her; skirt engulfing her cargo pants as the train speeds, tucking a finger in the book to mark her place and looking up with guileless eyes. She hardly wears makeup, just a stroke of the glossiest sheer lipgloss she can find, a preference that just enhances her allure.
Said gloss attracts Gowoon’s hair like moths to flame, and she watches the familiar routine as she carefully loops a finger in the ring of Gowoon’s jhumka to tug her down to her own height, lips pursed for protection from her flyaways. The train stops at a deserted platform as their foreheads meet, her hair curtaining their faces away from tottering stray dogs as well as any passersby.
Mattie gives her a sly grin as her hand wanders from her bookbag to a belt loop on her cargo pants. Her lips glisten even in the shadows, as she leans up to place a meek kiss hello.
She’s tugging her closer when there’s telltale sounds of children boarding the train; a group of primary school girls too busy flapping their tchotchkes from the corner store, giggling amongst themselves to catch a glimpse of Mattie pushing her away. The smear of her cherry lipstick staining her gloss, the dapple of shine on her own lips.
They sit down, and Mattie makes a show of opening her book again, her eyes evading Gowoon’s own. Gowoon's pointer finger stays tangled in her belt loop.
“Have somewhere to be today?” She asks, making idle conversation.
She raises an eyebrow at that, not taking her eyes off the page in front of her, “You offering?”
“For you?” Gowoon dallies, “Whatever you want, meri jaan².”
Mattie hums, a clement little thing, “Someone’s buying me coffee.”
“I can take you to a café, the most expensive one in town.”
“Dunno,” she mumbles coyly, “She has me on her tab.”
The train careens to a staggering halt at Dockyard, Mattie turns and offers her a hand. “Filter coffee³? My treat.” She grins.
And, what else is Gowoon to do? She takes the proffered petite hand, hopping off.