Another idea that kept nagging until I gave in. No idea how long this will be and won't try to speculate. Written in a series of drabbles. Bottom line: I needed a distraction from work, deadlines, and life in general, so here we are.
As always, thanks for reading!
Him
This was, he decides, quite possibly the worst idea he's had.
In recent memory, doubtless and quite possibly one of the top ten of his life as he supresses a shudder and inches further away from the man with the hacking cough and no tissue to rectify the results. Then again, he supposes he can use said man as a human shield from the individual soliciting tips up and down the subway car in exchange for a deplorable musical performance.
His current situation can only be explained as a desperate attempt to arrive at a meeting he's had on the books for months, one of the few meetings a year he has agreed to attend in person and usually in the back of a hired black Escalade to avoid typical New York City experiences such as this. Unfortunately the drive of the said black Escalade begged off due to a last mine "family emergency" which turned out to be to attend to the birth of his third child (bothersome of course, but he is nothing if not magnanimous) and therefore deserting him to plebeian public transport.
Idly, he reminded himself to send a balloon bouquet. Despite his annoyance, Bernard is a competent employee and Nadir is always saying he could improve in workplace culture.
The man beside/in front of him hacks again and he dips his face lower, surreptitiously reaching up to draw the brim of his hat down. His gazes slides across the car, relieved when no one pays any attention to the movement. Another reason for commonly avoiding the subway- too many eyes lead to too much interest.
And that is something he doesn't want.
The car lurches to a stop, door opening to a cacophony of entry and exits and he mentally calculates how many more of these wretched stops he must endure.
He gets all the way to five when he see her and he suddenly he can remember nothing at all.
She pauses just inside the door of the subway car, an urban cardinal sin if there ever was one. Oblivious to the shouts beside her, she allowed herself to be jostled as she places up, brow burrowed to the digital line of stops at the top of the car. He blinks, trying fruitlessly not to stare as he takes her in, a fascinating combination clothed in dancer's attire and toting a violin case at her side. She is a delightful puzzle and suddenly he finds himself wondering what her story is behind the chestnut curls and sharp brown eyes darting frantically down the station list.
His mouth is dry, his heart is pounding, his feet are shifting unconsciously wanting to be closer to her and yet he could not articulate why.
She steps back, whether to get a better look or find a spot is unclear. Her gaze moves from the list, tracking her surroundings with a musician's methodology: left to right, down, scanning the contents of the car until- He feels it, the moment her eyes couple with his. He can't deny he'd been staring; not with the intensity radiating between them across the crowded subway car. She must feel it too, at last to some degree, because he sees her staring right back, a gasp escaping her lips as she takes an unconscious step backward. The movement jostles her violin case, knocking it into Cough Guy who spittles violently in response.
"Hey lady! Watch where you're going with that thing!"
Her eyes widen, snapping away from his, horror and apology alternating on her face. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry-" as the announcement comes over the loudspeaker.
"Stand clear of the closing door!"
Those brown eyes widen even more, if possible and he wills his feet to step toward her as she stammers while retreating, "I need to go, but truely- I'm sorry, sir!"
And before he can manage to move or even signal his lips form the one word he wants most ("wait!"), she has backed up and out of the car as the doors close, carrying him away as platform shrinks into darkness