honey-haired soul shuffles his phone back into his pocket with a soft sigh that tastes of nostalgia and shimmering sunbeams. dreary hues glance at the stranger with evident disappointment, shoulders in a gentle slump as he shrugs them, “ yes. i will take the night bus to auntie’s house… it is not too difficult because i have done it before. ”
takashi nods, a streak of pride worming its way into a slight curl of petal-kissed lips as his eyes flicker over the jarring black eyepatch. it would be rude to stare, he knows, and the questions that gargle in his throat come out as silent syllables without meaning, passing through as soft breathing.
the carriage is mostly destitute of other people besides the tired businessman worked to the bone, a snore writhing from open mouth, and the occasional partygoer, accompanied by the thick stench of smoke and alcohol, to which he briefly glances away from, smile quickly dropping into a tight, neutral line. the environment is of quiet, rural suburban, with more parks and identical rows of apartments than one could count on both hands.
left hand restlessly slides along the pole as he blinks rapidly, wondering if a conversation now would be awkward or not.
teeth worry at lower lip when gaze fixates upon patterned floor, finding the geometric solitude somehow more intriguing than the candlelit slate of the stranger’s eye. his thoughts are of no comfort either: his mind lacks even the simplest of niceties, his name, and he figures its simply better to keep his quiet than release the deluge of inquiries bouncing about his skull.
( a part of him refuses to succumb to that static, though. he wants his name on his tongue, maybe just as a reminder that angels do not come in pre-packaged deliveries and holy premonitions. )
rapid fire inquiries passed his mind like bullets: they left holes where emotions should be and curt favour in place of logic. an intriguing mix. he listened to his lilted speech, and wondered briefly if that is how he sounded when he spoke english as well. an eye like lakes in winter peered out into the suburbs they crossed, wondering ( as they always seemed to do ). “ are you sure there are still night buses running in this part of town ? — at this hour ? ” he would imagine such a safe bet were they still in the heart of the hustle and bustle of the world but ... in such a idle setting ?
his breaths are even, with practised pacing and quiet observation. he feels the night: its calm and the stars in his pupils and in this passerby’s eyes. he feels fireflies and owls, and the annoying bugs that are so charmingly misled as they fly in front of one’s face.
as he drinks in the other’s appearance ( his demeanor: quiet and unobtrusive ) and wonders about his age, his upbringing, how one would go about being so small — or perhaps he considers most people small ? with his towering height and looming presence ...
thoughts running amok, he reels them in with an inhale and a gentle, pouting smile. he notices the chewing motion ( a sign of pondering ? ), and decides he may as well introduce himself ( ever the charismatic showman ). “ it’s nice to meet you, i am ben. ”
