Way Off Track
Second Taste
His routine for the past sixteen months had been nothing if not comfortable.
Each morning, Clover walked in, nodded to the receptionist who waved brightly back at him, then entered his office. After his coat was hung up by the door and his laptop was plugged in, ready to get started on the day's work, he walked out of his office and entered the lounge. He exchanged amicable words with his few staff members as he poured himself a cup of coffee, waiting until he was about halfway through the cup before heading back to his desk. That timeframe gave him plenty of opportunities to ask if Elm's nieces were doing alright, or if Vine's early-morning yoga class had gone well. He could easily check in on Harriet based on whether the woman was already swearing up a storm from her cubicle or not, so that was easy. As for Marrow, as long as he thanked the young receptionist for a coffee-well-brewed, Marrow would be energized and ready for the day.
It was an easy routine, one not easily broken. Habit was a hard thing to break, after all, and his crew had become so familiar with their own patterns that they had practically worn tracks into the floor, guiding them along their daily treks through the office.
"Morning boss-man!" Marrow called as Clover entered the office that day. Normally, Clover would have been ready for Marrow- unfortunately, after the meeting with the man with red eyes, he had grown distracted throughout his commute there. Barely having finished listening to the podcast episode, Clover was only halfway done tucking his earbuds back into his coat pocket, but unfortunately, Marrow caught sight of them anyways. His pale blue eyes widened as he perked up excitedly, asking, "Did you get to listen to the album I told you about-"
"Yes, I did," Clover lied smoothly for the twelfth day in a row. "Thank you for the recommendation."
That little exchange was enough to soften Marrow's smile, the younger clearly just happy to get the appreciation. So, Clover headed into the office, ready to take on the day.
His interaction that morning with Vine was similar. "Did you get to listen to the podcast I recommended?" the tall, gaunt man said evenly, sipping on his tea with his usual composure.
Clover nodded. "I did," he said. "It was informative." He had already forgotten it all.
"Good to hear." Like a breeze on the wind, Vine walked back into the main office, floating to his cubicle without a trace of emotion on his face.
Clover's eyes dragged across the office floor to Harriet, the petite woman already furiously muttering to herself as she worked across three different monitors. Well. She hasn't broken anything yet. Sipping his coffee, he found his mug halfway empty. Time to go back to his desk.
It was a small office, without the real excitement of corporate, but at the end of the day, it was a job. That was all that mattered.
As he placed his coffee mug down on his desk, however, his cell phone lit up. He paused, glancing down at the screen. The text message that had come in immediately made his stomach roil, the coffee churning.
It was from his mother. Coming home for the family reunion?
He sighed, typing his response with one hand while he opened up his calendar on his computer with the other. No, he replied.
Immediately, the phone call he had long-learned to expect rolled in. Picking it up without a second thought, he quickly began working on an email to arrange a meeting with an already-interested potential client. "You won't change your mind?" said the disappointed voice on the other end.
Hello to you, too. "No. Now, if that is all, I have to go. I'm at the office-"
His mother's voice was little more than a whisper- proof enough of the same, cyclical conversation that shouldn't have been happening. "But Clo, we miss you-"
"I will not be present. Enjoy the event without me." Clover pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hold in the weary breath he longed to release. "Now, I need to go, okay?"
"Fine. Think about it?" And the woman hung up, leaving him tired and annoyed. Her calls had been getting more frequent as of late. He had no idea why, but it was getting to him.
Still, he had work to do. So, Clover pushed aside his annoyance and focused on the task at hand, a smile settling onto his lips as he began looking over the portfolios for that afternoon's client meeting. This was his element. This was where he needed to be. No vacation time needed to be wasted on family reunions.
That thought elicited a quiet, ironic laugh from Clover as he worked at his desk, sipping his coffee like every day before. He truly believe that staying in Vale- all false veneer and shine covering poverty-filled, piss-scented, vandalized subway trains like corrupted veins pumping filth through the city- was better than visiting Atlas.
Oh, how far he'd fallen.
Then again, he had found something interesting that morning that kept him going all through the day. By the time he was walking out the door at 4:30PM, waving goodbye to Marrow and nodding to the building's security guard, Clover found himself unusually excited to get back to the subway, where he'd take his usual seat in his usual carriage during the lull in afternoon traffic.
After all, he might see that man again. At least, he hoped he would. His luck generally tended to land in his favour, so he didn't think too much of it.
However, there was no hint of red eyes on his commute home, nor the next morning. Clover even went so far as to keep his eyes peeled out of the window, scanning the crowd standing on the platform between the fifth and eighth stop on Clover's journey. Still no stranger. The trip home proved just as fruitless. For a moment, Clover almost wondered whether the attractive man had been nothing but his imagination playing tricks on him.
Then, lo and behold, Friday morning rolled around, bringing with it the same scent of unwashed bodies and exhausted, grumbling commuters ready for the weekend's brief respite. And, amongst that crowd, standing two seats down and gripping onto one of the olive-green handrails as if his life depended on it, was the stranger.
His stranger: all crimson eyes and downturned lips and skin that looked almost porcelain under the flickering lights of the subway tunnels washing through the windows. The man no longer looked two seconds from dying, managing to hold himself up straight and tall despite the deep dissatisfaction etched into his features. He pushed loose blackish-grey locks out of his eyes and glanced around, red blinking blearily at the rest of the passengers before falling on Clover.
Clover simply looked back, entranced. Green locking with red.
And then, the stranger looked away. Clover didn't fault him for it. He was just another commuter on the train, just another face in the crowd buried underneath the city of Vale.
It did bring Clover some satisfaction to know that he hadn't been wrong- the man hadn't been a dream. He tucked away his headphones, podcast abandoned once they rolled into University Station just in case the man spoke again.
He didn't. Clover still felt a smile linger on his lips long after he arrived at the office that day. It was a change in routine, and all it had taken was seeing him.