Meeting in the subway/commute prompt! For Calenheniel. Very different from my typical writing style, so please be gentle. The song for this is "She's So High" by Tal Bachman, I highly suggest you listen to it! Enjoy, review! - marth
I don't remember the first time I saw him, but I will always remember the first time I heard him sing.
This morning, chef demanded that I come in to work early; he needed a hand prepping for a bridal tea party. The thought crossed my mind that I should just pretend I wasn't startled into the day by my phone ringing, but I've never been one to shirk responsibility. A lukewarm shower did nothing to clear the sleepy fog from my mind. After wrestling with my too thick hair for a good twenty minutes, it finally submitted to a messy bun. A white t-shirt and black slacks found their way onto my thin, pale limbs and a clean chefs jacket and apron took their places in my backpack, just in case I actually had to serve people. A hasty note to let my sister Anna know where I was assuming she managed to wake up before 9 (not likely), a light hoodie, and I was on my way.
The need for caffeine beat out my feeble attempts to combat my addiction unanimously; there's no way in hell that one hundred miniature croquembouches were going to happen at damn-it's-early o'clock without it. My feet soon found their way into the Starbucks a block away from the station. I think the barista was new, because she messed up my order. She apologized like she had just killed someone, and forced both coffees on me. I didn't have the heart to refuse so both of my hands were warmed as I walked the familiar route to the subway station.
Confusion knotted my brows before my mind registered that it was Saturday, and normal people got to sleep in on weekends. The regular crowd of wage slaves was gone, and only a few travelers populated the sparse benches. It took me no time at all to find him. Red was reclining against the grimy wall already, guitar in hand. Weak notes floated through the air as he quietly tuned the golden-yellow wood instrument. Red was my morning songbird, the moniker due to his gleaming ginger hair. He didn't come every day, I'm sure he had other subways to serenade. The introvert in me didn't have the courage to talk to him yet, but I did offer a smile every time he looked my way. Just a few minutes every other morning in shared company, and that was all. He usually just strummed along to the natural rhythm of my fellow commuters, softening the harsh ruckus of daybreak in the city. There was never a cup for tips but people still found a way to thank him for his gift, dollars stuffed into battered guitar case that leaned against the subway wall next to him.
Carefully balancing both coffees in one hand, I somehow managed to shoulder my bag on to the bench closest to him but still sat off to the side so I didn't seem too eager. He didn't look up as I sat down, his concentration focused on the guitar. A moment passed before I realized how stupid I looked with two coffees by myself, and my neck grew hot. I glanced back at Red; he was still fiddling with the strings. My stomach flopped and I stood up suddenly.
"Coffee?"
He looked up at me, his face completely neutral. If I didn't know any better, I would have figured the pits of hell had swallowed me up by how hot my face now was. With the way his eyebrow was rising, I almost wished they would; at least the devil wouldn't care about my immature shyness. A subtle curve of his mouth sealed my fate.
"U-um, coffee. I have an extra. Would you like it?" A silent prayer formed on my lips, and I hoped against all hope that he wouldn't notice my hand shaking.
Red smiled. "Sure." He rested the base of his guitar on his foot, then took the steaming cup from me. Slightly stunned, or mortified, I'm still unsure which, I paused for a heartbeat before my feet took me back to the bench, but facing him this time.
"My name is Elsa,", the almost whisper escaping without a second thought.
"Hans," came the reply.
While he threw back half the hot drink in one go, my lips rested on the edge of the cup, waiting for it to cool enough to not make me flinch. My eyes closed for a just a bit, savoring the last of my sleepiness, when he started to play. A few harmonious notes, the song seemed faintly familiar. Then, he opened his mouth.
"She's blood, flesh and bone. No tucks, or silicone. She's touch, taste, sight, smell and sound."
His voice was strong and clear, but perfectly suited to his surroundings. My ears were perfectly charmed by the soft baritone, and it was all I could do to listen in silence. Hands rested on knees, coffee forgotten. A few minutes later, and the song ended. Hans set the instrument down and extended his hand; without missing a beat I took it. He pulled me to my feet so quickly it made my head spin and before I could react, he bowed with a flourish and pressed his lips to the back of my hand. Bright green eyes flashed up to mine, and my lungs stopped working when his mouth formed a devilish grin.
"Elsa." My name left his tongue like a song.
"Y-yes?"
"I think your train is here."
I keep telling myself that the thought of missing my train is what made me run, made me forget my coffee. But I feel his lips on my hand and his eyes on mine, and I know the truth that makes my cheeks burn. I might start leaving early for work more often.