Chapter Text
Dele had never been much of a fan of public transport. It wasn’t that he was suspicious of it and holding a deeply inhibiting fear of the grinding gears below the metal skeleton of the train carriage. No, it was nothing like that. It was more self-focused. The feeling that someone was always watching him, imploring his thoughts. He didn’t like the intrusion.
Dele shakes his head to himself, his paranoia-infused internal monologue at odds with the ‘chill vibes’ he prefers to exude. And, to his benefit, due to perfectly executed calculating of train carriage population, he only finds himself sharing the space with one other body.
Playing into the prying train culture Dele folds his body forward in an attempt to subtly eye his ‘companion’. His discretion proves unnecessary as he catches sight of the indisposed man, slumped in his chair, his chest rising and falling with harsh breaths. Dele cringes slightly at the sight before choosing to cast his gaze to the more pleasant views lying beyond the confines of the carriage.
True to the English countryside cliché the hills roll and the pastures are green and it almost makes Dele’s heart ache with its comfortable beauty. His fingertips dance softly upon the frosted, train window. Their path traces hill and dale, Dele’s hand floating high and low across the expanse of the window in gentle rhythm. It’s effective in the way in which it distracts him, the scenery outside ever-changing, eventually transforming into the roughly, torn sandstone of a subdued station.
The locomotive rolls to a halt with a disturbingly high screech of its engine. Dele sighs into the open space, standing stiffly, his feet numb from lack of use. Delving around for his satchel and duffle bag he side-steps down the aisle, passing by the near-comatose drunkard. He wavers, once more eyeing the sleeping figure. He feels an odd sense of responsibility for the man’s wellbeing, knowing his conscience will be tainted if he makes no effort at all to wake him. His hand hovers above the figure briefly, caught between a desire to help, but, not to disturb. His rationality soon diminishes his over-zealous thought process and he taps the man lightly.
- Hmf
The man blinks up at him with tired, annoyance inherent in his eyes.
“Sorry sir, but, the train’s arrived,” Dele clarifies his intentions before nodding at the man and making way of the carriage, choosing not to outstay his welcome. He had learnt not to trust those with skewed limits, like blurred lines. They were just too hard to figure out.
Dele’s mind clears a bit as he steps off the carriage, the cool, coastal air biting at his face ravenously. The train station is shadowed and dark, and yet, when he checks his watch in curiosity it reads;
14:48
Ok then. He shrugs to himself, wandering slowly along the platform, trying to balance along the stark cautionary line dotted just near the edge of the concrete surface.
“You got a death wish?”
Dele whips his head around so fast he nearly does find himself tumbling onto the nearby tracks.
“Or maybe you just want whiplash then.”
Dele has to collect himself, the train trip starving him of real human interaction (he chooses not to include the drunkard under the branch of humanity). His eyes meet that of a man, surely not too much older than himself. He’s tall and broad with shining, blue, hazy eyes which match the almost sleepy drawl of his voice. The man raises his eyebrows in an imploring manner. Dele snaps back into human function, “Well maybe both then,” he replies, choosing humour as his desired route of interaction.
The man keeps his eyebrows raise and, for a moment, Dele thinks he’s really blown it, images of spending the night in the local provincial jail filling his mind and, my, that would be some type of a welcome to town. Dele chews his bottom lip nervously and it’s like a trigger. The man’s eyes crinkle beneath his brows as he lets out a deep chuckle. Dele tries not to sigh too loudly, rubbing his neck in an action of relief (or perhaps to soothe the newly bloomed crick in his neck).
“You’re not too far off then,” the stranger replies with a jovial smirk, his hand clutched around the think handles of a canvas bag. Dele becomes distracted with watching it swing back and forth as the stranger descends down the train station steps.
“But really though-’’ Dele quickly switches his gaze from the man’s overfilled bag to meet his face as he speaks. “Take care. The funeral parlours a bit run out at the moment,” the man finishes with an almost disconcerting amount of casual charisma as he turns round the corner.
Dele remains, watching, from the top of the staircase, most probably appearing as a smiling fool as he grins into the expanse of chilly air.
“Eh boy, you followin’ me or something?”
Dele smells his intoxicated acquaintance before he sees him, his smile refusing to subside, despite the foul stench of old cigarettes and cheap whiskey.
“And why you smilin’ like a fool? Youth these days,” the drunkard mutters as he clambers down the staircase. Dele follows the figure, his eyes widening, somewhat relieved to see that the man was indeed able to rouse himself and tumble of the locomotive.
It’s peculiar, Dele thinks, as he himself steps down the staircase. Barely five minutes in town and he’s already facing that hurt-thrumming pang of invested familiarity. He hums under his breath at the thought, his satchel tapping against his thigh in comfortable rhythm.
As though, for once, everything in his life were at ease.