Work Text:
What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time?
The next uptown local train is seven minutes away.
Andrew hates sitting in unnecessary traffic. It makes him antsy and downright nauseous, staring out of a window of a city he once wished to live in.
There was some sort of gridlock, unsure whether it was an accident or a dignitary clogging up the most important streets. It could just be a normal bout of rush hour. He’s got no clue, determined to find his way on public transportation, regardless.
Anything for a semblance of normalcy after the past day. Meetings upon meetings, having to pitch and lock a timeline for his new album, as if it’s the latest brand of healthy soda rather than a collection of songs that he would classify more as art than a product to be consumed.
But what does he know? He just writes the damn things…
At least he’s free, having fulfilled his duties to his team, a normal catch-up promised to him in the form of an old college friend, and some buddies joining them later.
Any way to feel ordinary.
He can take the subway. He’s a big boy. His celebrity status hasn’t gotten to his head, see! He’s normal! Average, even!
Well, minus a height he can’t control.
But he’s just like everyone else. He doesn’t need a black SUV toting him around to every destination. He can take the fucking train. He’s fucking normal. The most normal man in this city, probably.
The next uptown local train is four minutes away.
Andrew sighs. He’s going to be late, regardless, but at least he has a transit system to blame.
The roar of the downtown train across the tracks is followed by the gust of wind, freeing some hair from his beanie, bunching it back in as he takes his time looking at the cars. It’s one of the older models, colorful plastic seats filled with unremovable stains no one seems to question. Gives the city its charm.
It’s then he spots him through the windows.
“Alex?” he mutters to himself in disbelief.
A profile he could recognize anywhere, Alex has got comically large headphones on as he types away on his phone.
God, it’s been… ages…
Andrew stares as Alex bobs his head to the music. He remembers seeing him from across the seat on the bus, the question of what the hell he was listening to on the tip of his tongue.
All those times he didn’t ask… wasted.
He’d ask them now. Beg for them. Any clue into what he was thinking or how he was doing. What did he have to say about today’s weather? Does he have his gloves with exactly two holes in his pockets? What about the scarf with a mud stain that just wouldn’t come out in the wash? Andrew would accept any and every detail he was willing to divulge about his whole new life.
A whole new life he found out through an Instagram post. A fucking Instagram post. No invitation. Not even a, “Do you want some of my old gear now that I’m moving to a whole new country for at least three years time?” type of text about speakers he knows wasn’t worth shipping over the Atlantic.
Just… silence. Whispers through other people casually mention things to Andrew that they assumed he already knew. Having to fake his way through those conversations with a convincing, “I’m happy for him.” Not necessarily with a smile, but no one calls him out on it.
“Look up,” again with the muttering. “Get your head out of your fucking phone and turn your stupid fucking head.”
Andrew would like to think Alex would offer a soft smile, maybe even a wave.
He’d wave back, he swears.
He doesn’t like how things ended, but he’s unsure how they’d start. Maybe with a small smile.
Or a wave.
Or a… text.
Were there any steps towards a direction where they could come back from this?
He remembers that day, the catch of Alex’s breath haunting his memories. This argument was more aggressive than any they’d ever had, which was something after the frequent squabbles on the tour bus as of late. Conditions, rest time, morale, and even meals were yelled about in some capacity.
However, this was different. Home from a break, a day starting off quite blissful, they got into it, like their night was required to end in at least one altercation. Practically pouring salt into wounds, lower and lower jabs were uttered as voices continued to rise, hands thrown in the air out of frustration as neither man could get their point across.
Something sneaks past guarded lips. Andrew isn’t even sure what he said, exactly, if you asked him, beyond caring with every word tumbling out of him in a bitter-induced blur.
But he remembers that gasp, before the room got uncomfortably silent, the world stopping on its axis.
And with a tilt to his head, Alex just laughed.
It’s all he could do to cut the tension and make a break for his keys.
Stand clear of the closing doors, please.
The screech of the subway rolling away brings Andrew back to reality, hearing his own gulp as he stares at the train, willing Alex to meet his eyes one more time.
Even if it was the last time.
Andrew never gets that wish, despite knowing its fulfillment came with consequences, ready and willing to have that monkey’s paw curl if it meant an acknowledgement of their relationship. His longest relationship, professional or otherwise, gone in an instant. As if they never knew each other in the first place.
Andrew kind of assumed they’d grow old together. Writing and producing songs for other artists when touring seemed too much of a pain. He could imagine them running a business venture that gave back to their community. Finally retiring after some satisfaction over what they accomplished.
Maybe even buy a house together, the faint melody of an instrument constantly floating around every nook and cranny as their hair sprouted more and more bits of grey.
He could picture it… perfectly.
The uptown train is now arriving. Please stand back from the platform’s edge.
That wind, again. Colder than he remembers.
Andrew steps onto the train, adequately lively with groups of friends headed out for a night of fun, the perfect distraction to block out any thoughts as he eyed the stops to his destination.
A sharp inhale. Five things he can see: A purple wool coat worn by an elderly woman with glasses. An ad for an AI company that makes him scowl. The sign that attempts to remind passengers not to lean against the doors, failing at its purpose. His own shoes that need to be cleaned once he gets home. Another train rushing past in the opposite direction, which he heavily debates on transferring to in an attempt to follow Alex.
No… he can’t just get off at every stop on a subway line and search all businesses within a half-mile radius. That would be… ridiculous.
So ridiculous it might just- no. He needs to stop thinking like this.
Four things he can touch: The cold metal of the subway seat’s edge that his shoulder is shoved against. His phone in his pocket, filled with texts from his buddy wondering about his ETA. The shirt he chose, soft to the touch. It was a gift from his brother, the only other person to whom Andrew had told the truth.
His chest, a heart beating faster with every second he wishes would just quit already.
Three things he can hear: The automated announcements, swiftly followed by the ding of the closing doors. The conversation of the couple next to him discussing the shitty things their friend had done to his partner. His heartbeat, again, this time ringing in his ears.
Two things he could smell: The food being taken home by the passenger directly across from him, whom he refuses to make eye contact with. His own cologne, desperately thrown on in his hotel room in the hope of impressing this new group of people, tricking them into thinking he was a good person after all.
One thing he can taste: the bile in his throat.
The second it pulls into the station, Andrew immediately exits the train car, rushing over to the nearest trash can as he empties what’s left in his stomach.
Thankfully, it was his stop.