Prompt: [Every day at the station, you see someone youāre attracted to,Ā How would you go about getting yourself noticed]Ā
On his few days outside his home, he likes to ride the only working train around the dying city. Sometimes he finds new plants at the next stops, sometimes storiesā¦
But almost always, he finds him.
Iota has never minded his mutism too much. He didnāt have a whole lot of people in his life to communicate with. His plants seemed pretty content with smiles and the occasional song on the radio. That probably wonāt be enough for Him.Ā
Iota pretended not to notice his lazy pacing along the platform. Pretended not to notice the sunlight on dusty black curls. Pretended that he didnāt want to be noticed
āHeās probably a stray, like I am,ā he pretended not to think.Ā
He tried to divert his own attention. He focussed on the first song that sprung up in his head. He tapped his foot to the imaginary drums, tapped his fingers on his thigh to the imaginary melody, nodded his head ever so slightly to the imaginary rhythm.Ā The name of the song was long forgotten, long lost. He closed his eyes and smiled nonetheless.Ā
He went on like this until a shadow suddenly blocked the sun warming his cheeks. He opens his eyes, seeing large green eyes between strands of thick black curls. Iota sprang back - inhaling sharply. Then he kept walking. Iota was a mere passing thought to him. Two ships passing in the night. Except, one ship didnāt want to pass on to his usual route. But he pretended not to think that. Iota huffs and makes a point of looking away. The song was long gone from his mind.Ā
So he continued to wait. The train was awfully late today.Ā
He kept walking along the platform, Iota noticed.Ā
He noticed and he was mildly annoyed because of that. He watched him, frowning like an introvert would frown at a particularly noisy fellow on the bus. Iota heard the distant squeak of metal grinding on metal, and saw the train trundling over in the distance. Iota sighed in relief. 'Heā stopped his pacing. Iota idly wondered if 'heā had a name. Heāll just call him Fellow for now.Ā
The train squealed to a halt. Iota got on. Fellow joined him shortly after. Iota kept standing, despite all the vacant seats. He liked standing. And the seats werenāt comfortable. Fellow didnāt seem to mind the seats. He sat at the very end of the train car. Iota pursed his lips. The silence felt very awkward for some reason.Ā
He looked at Fellow. He looked at his face, slightly reddened from the warm mid-morning sun. His lips were darker than what youād expect, his lashes thicker than what Iota thought would be normal. He couldnāt really see him that well from here. He just knew by now. Fellow looked back and Iota pretended to be fascinated by the dirt underneath his fingernails. Itās an old ritual. An old, boring ritual.
Iota took a step towards Fellow while he wasnāt looking. He didnāt seem to notice. Iota stepped closer again, but Fellow was looking out the window now. Staring at the mostly brown hills and mostly charred buildings. His usually curious eyes were saddened now. Iota found himself swallowing his nerves. A kindred spirit.Ā
Iota ended up standing next to the seats opposite to Fellow. He didnāt notice. Iota wanted to speak for the first time in years. Felt his throat tightening at the idea.'You like Jazz?ā he wanted to ask. Iota frowned. No, thatās a horrible question. He wasnāt even sure what counted as jazz anymore. He knew it sounded like a coffee shop, but his coffee mornings sounded too sunny for that. No, that doesnāt make sense.Ā
Fellow was looking at him now. Iota flinched and lost his balance. Fellow smiled as Iota waves his arms about before his bottom landed on the seat behind him. Goodness, this train was hot today. Iota smiled awkwardly and shrugged. Fellowās smile turned to a very soft chuckle. A deep, clear one. Not chocolatey, but just as smooth. Fellow gazed out the window again.Ā
Another odd silence passed. Well, as silent as it could get in a creaky old electric train. Iota found himself fumbling and fiddling with anything that his fingers could grasp at. Sleeves, pockets, the other handā¦ Iota felt his cheeks redden. Fellow must think heās an idiot now.Ā
Iota looked up. Fellow was still not looking at him. Iota gets up and starts wandering about in the space. Thereās always something lying about. Likeā¦ this rolled up newspaper! Itās probably weeks old, but thatās okay. And there! An empty glass bottle. And under here is a shoe! Alright, that one is rather gross. But Iota finds many other things. Interesting things. Things to entertain himself (and Fellow, but he pretended not to think that) and to use later at home. He collected all sorts of little things and stacked them on the seat where his behind had an awkward encounter just before. Fellow glanced at him occasionally. Soon, Iota was checking other train cars. Slightly less soon, he found items on his seat that he didnāt put there. Fellow grinned every time Iota hesitated.Ā
Once Iota was satisfied with his collection of things, he started sorting them. Why not? It helps occupy his mind. He tried making little towers with his things. Stacking the sturdiest things on top of each other. The things that wonāt topple easily in the rattling train. His second tower started getting pretty tall when the train dragged to a halt at its next stop. That toppled them both. Fellow chuckled again, and was nice enough to help Iota gather everything again.Ā
The train trudged off again. Neither of them got off. Fellow smiles at Iota as he hands him back the last bundle of faded newspaper.
āIām Delta,ā he says finally. Iota stiffens up. 'Iām Iota,ā he wanted to say. He stared, instead. Delta chuckled and made an upwards triangle with his fingers.
Iota hesitates again, but then he holds up his index finger.
'Iām Iota,ā he thought. Delta smiled at him. He knew.
