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Oh, wait!
The eleven o’ clock is right there!
Booking it to get to the landing, Baxter held his pseudo-leather briefcase close to his chest with one hand and fished a tiny map of the train station out of his pocket with the other. He hadn’t been in the habit of taking the train often, so it couldn’t hurt to double-check -- walking was preferable for fresh air and exercise, and the library was close enough to the academy that he’d just stay there and read students’ work until he felt like wandering his way back to district alpha or passing out in the quieter study areas in the basement. Whichever came first, really. It wasn’t the healthiest way of doing things, but it was one he’d chosen for himself.
But today, he’d had some errands to run, and plenty of work to grade... which made it doubly unfortunate that the second he reached the gate, the train lurched and chugged along its merry way, leaving him in the dust.
... and triply unfortunate that it’d be another half-hour before it came again, this late at night. Baxter tapped his foot lightly against the pavement, sighing as he tucked the map away and lowered his briefcase to his side.
But the fourth level of misfortune came in an unmistakable chill that spiked and prickled down every inch of his back, dancing across old scars as if they could be seen. Eyes, in his experience, had that very particular way of digging into your skin that not even daggers could match, no matter how the saying went.
And these, a sharp, familiar yellow that carved into the dark around them, were hardly welcome. Baxter wouldn’t forget a face like that, not after the things this one liked to say and do... and really, the fact that he’d been looking at him, that was a first move, wasn’t it? Hardly a strike at all, but it set his bones on edge and tightened his jaw just enough to make him uncomfortable. Still, he smiled, putting forth just enough effort to sound backhandedly courteous at best without betraying any sense of composure in his posture and expression.
“Looking to catch the next train, sir?” He chuckled, sliding his hands into his pockets. “You’re out rather late, is all.”
Nobody else seemed to be. Baxter’s foot tapping against the pavement gave a very slight but cold, hollow echo to the air around them.
“Color me curious.”