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lonelysucker7 · 1 month ago

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Burdened Silences

Pairing: Jef Costello x f!Reader

Summary: Ever since you saved his life, you've been entangled in the world of Jef Costello. Always sending you ahead to inspect the targets location, you report back to him with detail. In turn this earns you the name "Messenger Pigeon" from his colleagues, much to your displeasure. You couldn't really point out what was between you two. You'd be the only one whom he allowed you into his personal space. You tried not to think of it much.

And yet here you were, thoughts treading to dangerous territories.

Warnings: Angst, slow pacing, complicated established mutual understandings, attachment issues (for both really and there are types of attachments mind you), smoking, mention of murder, period typical attitudes (they’re hinted so you can get an idea)

Words: 4.2k

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Note: So...This is a multifandom blog right? And I had a burst of idea. I wanted to write it and post it here just because. This fic belongs to one of my favorite movies, 1967's "Le Samourai" with Alain Delon. Its probably the quietest French movie ever, but that's okay. Rare shipping exists for this guy because the movie is hella old lmao but I wanted to write one for him for a long time so here we are. You should watch it! It's a noir crime film if you’re into that.

I understand a bit of French, and I only used google translate for this first part (please don't come at me I beg you.) Just so I don't butcher the rest, I left the French speaking parts in italics so that the continuity of the fic makes sense and you get an idea the language is being spoken. If you haven’t watched the movie, you’ll likely get confused what’s being referenced here, but that’s okay I think.

I’ll leave it as a one shot here despite knowing there is plot holes for a potential backstory to fill them in. I took some creative liberties here. Get ready cause its just...complicated?

This is the first fanfic with a lady reader (in this blog.)

Hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1: To Each Our Own

"I hope that makes sense. I did spell 'security' correctly...right?"

Tapping the pen on your chin, you then make a few corrections, hoping the grammar wasn't an eyesore for your fellow French hitman. The pattering of rain fell on the hood of the car you were sitting in, echoing inside and creating droplet shadows as they slid down the window while waiting in the passenger's seat. Today the Parisian streets gloomed on with grey skies and a lack of public in sight, almost creating a lonesome environment. Save for the officer that passed by to stick in a parking ticket for mismanaged cars, you minded your own business trying to prepare a short inform for the hitman.

You double checked for mistakes and kept it accurate to observations made earlier at the shady art studio he sent you. You still had so much to learn of the language, only knowing a couple from a course you took here, and interactions you've had with the natives. While listening and writing was your decent skill, speaking it not so much. Too many slips and tongue tripping on your rolling of the R made it clear it was best to practice that when you got the chance. For now, this was the best way to communicate with-

The door opens in the driver's seat, your soul leaving to think the cop caught an intruder lounging alone. But the tension relaxes when you noticed it wasn't them. It was the 30 year old man known as Jef Costello, sparing you a glance with those tired blue eyes of his and takes a seat inside.

None of you say anything, him staring ahead out the window and eyes glancing back and forth to the rear view mirrors. He takes much in observing the officer from across the street. The man's head was almost buried within the drenched khaki trench coat almost if he were waiting for something. Clearing your throat and memorizing the rehearsed words, you raised the notepad you had.

"Morning Jef. Got what you want."

Jef finally glances at you, eyeing the notepad with a neutral expression. Extending his palm out, you slip it to him as he brings it close to him and reads it silently. You watch him process the information, and you don't have to look at what you wrote.

Monday March 20th 1967 3:30 in the afternoon Short, balding man tends to walk behind the workshop, surrounds himself with mannequins... seems to have a liking for non-living things. Lack of security. Two exits, one near his office and the other main. But if you ask me, it wouldn't hurt to check under the desk rug. It looks like there's a trap door there. Be careful.

"Is that all?"��He asks quietly, returning you the notepad in a gentle manner, but almost fast enough to avoid making contact with your hands. You ignored that as you tucked the notepad in your coat pocket, nodding faintly.

"Yes. Let me know if you need anything else."

Jef nods, looking at you with a somewhat strange look in his eye. Strange, as in, there are crinkles in the corner of his eyes.

You stare back at him, huffing with a shrug. "What?"

He doesn't say anything, eyes going up towards your head before taking out his numerous key carrier and stares front ahead again. With blind accuracy he slides the first car key out of its hook.

"Your hair is curled up. Going somewhere?" He comments in his lowly voice. Instinctively your hand goes up to the curls, a finger curling around a strand and pulls it a bit, watching it bobble.

Looking at the rear view mirror, you fix the curl back in its place, commenting with a hum, "Someone invited me to the nightclub up on 6th tonight at 9. Fancy place. You should come with me when you're done."

Jef continues to insert each key, unsuccessfully starting the sleek black Citroën. He pauses, eyes glancing head to toe, taking note of the indigo dress you wore. Suddenly you felt self-conscious, but you raise an eyebrow and open your coat more to show its detailed material. It was if saying 'It's a dress. So?'

But he says nothing.

"I got plans of my own." He said bluntly, his lips to a thin line as he returns his gaze back to the front, keeping an eye on that cop. Again, he picks out another key, using it with the car and again it fails to start. You almost slump in your seat, crossing your arms and roll your eyes.

"No you don't. And don't say its with your bird. Poor things still caged up," You coo a bit, referring to his bullfinch at his place. Jef doesn't follow up with his defense. Finally, after what could've been the 10th key, the car revved with life. From there you both were off. Thankfully the light traffic made the sights around you more accessible to see in the ride, allowing you to be entertained alongside the quiet man.

It's funny, how you and the enigmatic Jef Costello have set up your style of communication. He remained speaking his language while you did with yours. The first time you two met it was in an elevator of a hotel. He kept his eyes dead and forward, while your social self picked him among the other crowd of people standing and tried to start off a conversation with your poor French. He didn't reply much, listening to you blab and trip over some accents before telling you stoically you weren't going to get nowhere with him.

"Is it someone I know? " He asks, bringing you back to the present. His question retracts the mentioned invitation. More particularly asking who was the one who invited you. You purse your lips a bit, turning your head towards the window as an excuse to avoid his eye. Whether or not this would displease him, you didn't know and you gripped the seat handles.

"It's the boss."

There was no to need to face him when his reflection on the window doing it for you. Underneath the car slows down to a red light, gently nudging you forward in your seat. You don't see much against the transparent glass, only the reflection of those deep blue eyes of his.

"...Why is that?" He finally asks quietly, the monotone of his voice just making you a little bothered. It was supposed to be anonymous between boss and employee. That’s how the system worked. As far you understood, Jef's never met anyone past the go-between.

The one who paid him. You didn't either and this was a first. Swallowing, you shrug and lean your head back against the headrest behind you and busy yourself picking at your nails. Then simply spill out the specifics.

"I don't know. If you haven't noticed, his go-between keeps sending me his notes like some admirer. He seems to know I like company. And he knows I'm a good worker."

What a joke, you think to yourself. Tonight, you'll be going to the lion's den. Face to face with a man who could be a politician risked your exposure to the public. Jef cocks his head back a bit on that, unfazed and returns to facing ahead at the streets. The light turns green, and the car runs.

"So...you want to come?" You ask, tilting your head towards his direction.

"I wasn't aware this was an open invitation."

"It's not. But you can be my guest."

There's a brief pause... and he does his turns on the road.

"They want you."

His final word. You lips remain thinned; unchanged, but your chest grew tight. "Right. Apologies, Jef."

You don't want to leave the man third wheeling where he wasn't needed. Jef kept driving, the recognizable subtle tension going unnoticed on his shoulders when you could feel his gears turning in his head. A growing silence stretching in the car. He was, to say the least, far from being the most readable person in the room. Yet you understood him somehow and knew his interest peaked. A date with the boss, platonic or not, it stands.

"Will he pick you up?" He spoke after a moment of awkward silence. You rubbed your chin, trying to remember.

"Yeah...No, I think it's his driver. I'll let you know before I head out." You reassure him, gesturing a call phone gesture. He bowed his head slightly taking note. You both take a corner, passing an intersection and the silence grows just like the never-ending rain.

He's taking you home, to the little apartment on the nicer neighborhood on the other side of the city, far from where he lived. Currently in a stolen car of course. One you tipped off for Jef of a busy accountant always leaving his car unlocked, which you gave Jef the location prior to the meet up.

The same car he was going to change its license plate and use to travel to the art studio later. You can't help but think of that studio you were in, thinking how it'll appear in the newspaper tomorrow. The weird artist laying in his pool of blood as the culprit fled taking the exits you gave them. You'll probably sit at the table, reading, and think 'Yeah I knew who shot and killed the guy. He's my friend.'

Friend?

Side glancing at Jef, suddenly you felt like reaching out when you notice an eyelash stuck on his cheek. It's small and curled up. Dark like his hair. So you settled on blowing it, the air smacking it off him to land elsewhere. Jef only gives you a questioning glance. You force a blunt expression, but it doesn’t quite work; you can feel the edges of a smile trying to break through. He slumps in his seat.

"You want to crash?" He murmured his scolding, crossing over a bridge that overlooked the lower streets of Paris. The Eiffel tower was nearby, the specks of people surrounding it and holding umbrellas.

"Eyelash." You chuckled, earning you one of his infamous stoic glares. Quietly glancing at Jef, the urge to do more banters were held back by the bite on your tongue. That man never cracked a smile in his life huh? Not even to your jokes? Save it for dinner you supposed. Crossing your arms, the heel on your foot taps on the ground as Jef calmly weaved between the traffic of cars. It's those things he did that made you watch in silent awe wondering how he managed to keep his composure.

Like this whole job. Then again, he was his own man who did things without question. Why else would Jef be hired to carry a task? You'd do this without question too. Helping with the clean getaway but unfortunately lacking an equal luck. You were too valuable to be let go and hell traveling outside of the city wasn't much of a choice. Almost everyone in the underworld knew you as a recommended getaway planner. Jefs "partner" in some way. So much for being an alibi.

At first Jef was reluctant to have you as one of his alibis, leaving you to think it would create some interruption to his current routine. Yet he managed to fit you somewhere in his life and here you were now. Only providing minimal details of potential exits, who the target looked like and the environment.

Other than that, nothing personal. Employers paid good, making sure survival was guaranteed. Therefore, you were both trapped under this deadly habit in which a job was never the last. Equally responsible with blood in your hands. Chills ran down your back, goosebumps popping up on your arms.

Something felt off in these last few months, all having to do with whatever this partnership was.

"The accountant must earn a lot in his living to afford one of these. Maybe the audio definition is sharp." You say suddenly, pretending to admire the set up.

Jef only spared you three seconds of his attention before returning to look up front. You didn't own a car, preferring to take the public transportation that was affordable and with you free of insurance. Jef next to you checks his watch under his wrist, a hand on the wheel, and he shows you.

"It's a quarter till 5. The exhibition opens at 8. I should be done in 10 minutes," He comments bluntly, returning his hand on the wheel, sharing you the other piece of information he received from the go-between. A small chuckle gets out of you, finding something amusing about that delivery of information. You could never decide you liked it or not, it was inconsistent.

"Right. I'll be home, and keep an eye on the time..." The radio once again catches your eye; now becoming invested and observe the numbers wondering which turns to what station. Buttons and their placements...to see how they worked from the inside was perhaps extraordinary. As you reached out to turn it on, you had to look at Jef for permission. He doesn't look at you, a hand turning the wheel to a left as he looks over his shoulder.

"If you get attached to it, it won't be my problem."

"I'll take it as a yes." You mused, leaning in and bringing the radio to life. Turning the button to the stations, the static frizzled and crackled, until you find a station you had a feeling would be to both your liking. The tune of songs playing Jazz in the background brought a gentle melodious environment to the car, and you kept it low to avoid distracting Jef. He glanced at your choice of music, but keeps to himself, the silence between you two settling to an ease. Somehow you sense he didn't mind this at all.

The music went on, the piano tapping the keys with its gentle high notes and low, matching tune with the trumpet and flute mingling in the background. Just when you were feeling comfortable the reminder of the nightclub wandered back. Fancy clubs played these kinds of tunes, didn't they? Rich old people coming in and out of there, humming those notes and you wondered what kind of energy you'd be met tonight.

"What will you do when you come back?" Jef asks unexpectedly, breaking the silence.

A perplexed look crosses your face; suddenly anticipating. "Uh... Sleep. Need me for something?"

"No."

"...Okay." An uncomfortable tightness spreads inside followed by a bitter chuckle. Your hand waves in the air dismissively before falling lamely on your lap.

Despite no harm, you still mumbled an apology to Jefs "confused" blank expression shot towards you. Leaning against the window, it felt cold enough to calm your heating face. Your breath creating a fog against the glass. Now your mood grew sour, bringing you back to earlier thoughts. You didn't miss his questioning expression upon your dress and hair.

That man always brewed with heavier thoughts than words, and you wanted to hear them. Just now he almost gave you a sense of that nice-something you didn't want to name. Things like this always happened, leaving you confused about their meaning, and you refused to give in to those hopeful thoughts. The clear jazz began to cut in and out, and your face went somber hearing it.

The date, that damn date. It replays in your mind like a scratched disc. It made you narrow your side eyes at Jef again. Maybe you were being delusional, but you swore Jef wanted to ask more. Show that he probably needed you again for tonight. Silently you wished he would say something otherwise, make him protest and not let you go. Water blurred in your eyes, feeling the familiar burn and quickly your thumb comes up to brush them away.

Swiveling your head, you began, "Jef--." The hitman turned his head to you, eyes calculating silently waiting for you to continue and lips curt to match his expression. But looking at the dull gaze on his face didn't offer any consolation. The words to ask him if he really needed you remained stuck in your throat, and you break eye contact. It was like staring at an emptiness with a body. Your gut churned to a darker thought: You were on your own. Jef knew that. You did too. Being stuck in this car with this man only deepened the real focus.

Watch over Jef. Work alongside him but remain out of the lone wolf's way.

That's how it was going to be.

"You just watch out tonight. Get back and, uh, wait for my call," Your voice cracks a little, internally embarrassed when you give away the stressor, while reminding him of your earlier note to call him after his mission. Jef stares at you a moment longer, giving nothing away as he returns his gaze back forward. He exhales through his nose quietly. The car approached another bridge, and you knew you were close to home. Automatically you wipe away the moisture on your lap, chest tightening, and ignore the heavy pit in your stomach. The giveaway of his jaw clenching and unclenching lightly seems to have him think about your request.

"Fine," he finally murmurs.

The static of the radio grew uglier as the car furthered the distance of the main area, and you were more than glad when Jef turned it off. He keeps one slender hand on the wheel as the other reaches for his cigarette in the inner breast pocket of his trench coat. A streetlight turns red and he presses the brake, keeping cool while slips the stick in his lips. He rolls down the window of his side, ignoring the drops of rain that enter to let ventilation in for your sake. He starts searching for the lighter, and he pulls it out a little too quickly just for it to fall underneath the seat.

"Here, let me--" Immediately you lean down, moving a little closer as your hand rummages down under his seat finding it. This prompts him to retreat his hand that was nearing the floor and lets you find it for him. You could feel him tense at your closeness, and you make sure to find the lighter quickly before god who knows what could happen. At this proximity, your mind wanders where it shouldn't. He smells good, the natural musk and smoke making up for which he lacks in cologne.

When you feel that cold surface of the small rectangular lighter, you grin and mumble your found search with success. Leaning back, some of the curls on your head fall down to your face, and you shake them out of the way before flipping the lighter cap open and you press your thumb down. You turn it on and near it to him. Once you do, he leans down his head holding the now burning cigarette between his lips. He raises his eyes a little, meeting yours with a speck of sullen curiosity. Unable to help yourself, a faint smile starts curling up at him and you turn off the lighter. 'You're welcome', your eyes spoke.

Gently handing the lighter back in his hand, you're about to lean back.

"Hey."

Pausing, you look back at him when he calls your attention. He hasn't moved away when he exhales a little puff of smoke through the corner of his lips, the smoke flitting under and over his grey fedora. You consciously feel yourself leaning back to him, taking note up close of the dark circles forming slowly around his eyes. He lowers his head a bit, his fedora casting a shadow over his eyes, defining their blue. The green light flicks from the corner of your eye but Jef holds your gaze, refusing to break contact.

"...Be careful. Okay?"

There's a weight to his words offered in a gentle low caution, to which sends a skip in your heart. Slowly you nodded, keeping your hopes low but sharing with him your soft smile of appreciation.

"I will. Thanks."

He nods once, staring at you for a moment longer watching his eyes trail down to your smile, before the car behind him beeps at both of you to go. You break away contact, and frown looking over the car seat. Clicking your tongue in disapproval, your cheeks began to flush in irritation.

"Bastard. See if he'll like it. Move Jef--" You reach to do the same, but Jef presses the gas, sending you back in your seat. Eyes going wide and mouth gaping like a fish, your fingers digging the sides of your seat. You whipped your head to complain, opening and closing your speechless mouth to say something. But instead, you burst out an energetic laugh at the random occurrence head tilting back as your body shook within the walls of the car. You flipped off the hitman, clearing the irritation on your throat and press together your lips to silence the giggles. While you have your head turned away, Jef lingers his eyes on you a little longer.

Eventually the journey on the stolen car ends when you both arrive at your nicer apartment. The sunshine broke out through the clouds once the rain stopped, and you felt lighter with a sense of confidence. You turn to Jef, eyeing his relaxed posture and nod. "Thank you Jef. I'll remember to call. Take care."

He only stares at you, hands resting on his lap when you open the door, your back turned towards him when you close. In the car he watched you wave at him with a smile glowing alongside the afternoon sunshine peering down. It makes the curls on your head and the indigo dress make you appear angelic.

The moment doesn't last once you disappear inside, with the clouds reemerge to decolorize the environment. Now Jef remained alone inside the vehicle--well, not quite. The ringing of your laughter earlier echoed in his ears; the scent of your perfume lingered in the empty seat next to him. The memory of the way you held the lighter close to him and offered your help...

He blinks barely, the first of many all day when he realizes something warm in his chest.

Before he can think, his hand automatically ignites the car to life and runs. A sudden rush to get out of your area lead him to anticipating getting his gun plus a change of license plates at the dingy garage. He flips his wrist to check the time underneath, but his eyes became unfocused for a second, forgetting to tell time. The cigarette on his lips waned and he tossed it out of his window, exhaling the remaining smoke his mouth carried.

Right, go to the garage, remember the time, the exits, the target, the boss, your date--

"..."

He presses the gas harder, taking a left for his home to hear your call. The familiar route starts to reappear along the grimy wet pavement. What was wrong with him? Get the gun! The wheel swerves a little just as his gaze hardens when he abruptly presses the brake and halts near a lamppost. Luckily no one outside takes notice the man in crisis. His face remains unchanged, lips barely parted as his eyes wander around up front, his chest heaving out of breath. His fingers flexed a little gripping the wheel. A form of attack, he silently identified. Heart beating like a post cat and mouse chase. Jefs eyes look around the interior of the foreign car, noting the headboard scratches and fading color of the greenish leather.

He paused, noticing something in the corner of his eye. In your seat, your little notepad accidentally left behind, having each of your tasks and reminders written down. It carries what would be lethal evidence. But he gently takes it, thumb flipping the pages nonchalantly, the devoted words "For Jef" on each page engraving his mind.

The familiar etch of the pen in a hurried cursive or a messy unintelligible word reminded him of your growing adapting progress to his language. In the back of his mind there was a thought. A very quiet one. If the possibility that tonight things were to go wrong for you...Would you see this again? Would you write another reminder? He closed the notepad, carefully securing it in his pocket. Without another thought he presses down the gas on his way to the garage at a steady pace.

He had one job. Eliminate the artist, cut short that life and move on.

The night went on. The drive was long.

And it felt like you hadn't left at all...

#Queued post because I am asleep #jef costello x f!reader #jef costello x reader #jef costello #le samouraï #They're complicated btw and its intended that way you don't know if this is romantic or friendship or nothing at all

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lonelysucker7 · 1 month ago

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Strangers on a Train

☂️ Chapter 5 ☂️

Pairing: Kaine Parker x gn!Reader

Summary: You’re just an average person making their daily living, surviving adulthood as it is. You live in Houston, Texas where even the hero the Scarlet Spider lives. And then there’s a guy, who looks like he’s gone through hell, on a train you’re crushing on.

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: Profanity, fluff (this is a rather tame chapter.)

Note: 5/21/25

So…It’s come to this huh? Back to this fic a good 1 year and 3 months. I knew should’ve planned this out before jumping in the wagon on this journey. Maybe that’s a lesson I’ll learn now for my pantser habits. But finally after so long here it is. Chapter five.

I've seen a particular reader and their enthusiasm for me to continue this and here I acknowledge them my thanks. Thanks for keeping me motivated despite being away from here, reminding me to put a new little sentence that I hoped was a good one 🙂👍. To post soon to share with you and others. Thank you.

Folks...I don't know if I'll do chapter 6, cause I can't seem to be good at keeping promises anymore. Definitely not abandoning this fic. Please, please don't ask for updates because I don't want you all to be anticipating or anything and I want to keep my worries at a minimum. My life has been becoming awfully busy. And I write for fun, share for fun, so please don't demand.

Now...Enjoy.

🔴⚫🔴⚫🔴⚫🔴⚫🔴⚫🔴⚫🔴⚫🔴⚫

He sees you coming in.

False, his eyes remain shut. Even without that sense he knows it's you. The footsteps you take entering inside the creaking cart; mixed with the rest of the passengers' send faint vibrations beneath his feet.

Careful.

Steady.

Rushed.

Always trying not to screw up while still calling dibs on the first seat; pushing yourself within the crowd. The seat across from him. Near the exit, wanting to be the first out...

It’s so weird.

Driven from the drowsiness of last night, his mood now leveled between not giving a damn and what could occur in the next thirty ish minutes. Usually he'd attempt to play it safe and continue “sleeping” till he wakes up. Guess not today.

Weighing his heavy leg over the other, the stiffness it carries makes him feel dull in his seat. That, and a fearing feeling that if he had the energy to laugh he could.

Unwillingly he has memorized it. Your steps. A habit that became familiarized for the last few months. Maybe it was patterns, and yours was the easiest to distinguish. Predictable even. Should you be lucky? He wasn’t sure. Not when it reminded him of his past—and current—habits. Tracking down enemies and allies alike.

Both corners of his lip twitch down. Thoughts like these come up numerous times; it is only fair the question gets answers from you. No point getting his assumptions ahead of anyone's really. Till now it's hard to forget the day you became part of his memories.

…So weird.

Yesterday took him by surprise. Not the usual heavy rain of Houston's weather and not even the semi emptiness of the train. Reading the room, obviously, wasn't his greatest skill.

The moment you arrived you looked damn near close to pissing your pants. But a brief glance and he was about to demand— ask, if you had been hurt. If you were still hurting. There was also fear. A feeling he recognized all too well.

The back of his teeth grinds down, threatening to break. The brief scrape of the wisdom hurting the skin. Gears in his head changed to replay the day he ran off, like his time was running out despite there not being a danger. All while he wouldn't dare to admit it aloud. The real truth. No danger. Not even the stuffy train…just an overwhelming amount of guilt. And—the alleyway.

The muscles in his body screamed to get up and run out. His face felt the levels of his blood drain and quickly thoughts fast forwarded back to yesterday— the complete 360 carrying several apologies laid on the table, disclosed miscommunication…And then that strangely hopeful ending. The new taste of conversation between you two had been better than what he expected. It was tiring. But he listened; he answered.

Like last night, he remembered he was forgiven and the smile returned to your face; awkward but reassuring to let him know you were at peace. Even now he couldn’t believe it. Amidst the storm there was a light, one where a subtle acknowledgement had been established and you were doing better. A goodbye where your eyes held a quiet strength, a genuine smile and gratitude that would make him feel all sorts of mixed feelings. He contemplated a lot later last night he remembered. The good and the bad… but mostly the good.

Which might be bad.

Now? You seemed to think he had promised you more information about himself. Back home, the telepathic girl did an excellent job reminding him, her voice imitating his words 'saving that for tomorrow.' A shiver went down his spine. It's like he signed a waiver to bare himself again to the world. Hell he only said it because he couldn't tell you to screw off and mind your own business. Right? Yet the telepathic girl insisted on giving you a chance. Just one. She knew she saw something different this time buried within him, and still made him unsure. Enough to leave his hands trembling.

"Let me come with you! Maybe I can see for myself they--"

"Absolutely not."

Everything was falling back to step one. He knows better than to talk with some stranger and share his space. Every question thrown he's dodged it before. He owes them nothing.

"Oh goodie. You'll think about it." The telepathic girl mused both out loud and in his mind before breaking her contact with a pillow. The longest 'god damn it' stretches in his head. Fine. If all went to shit, screw it and ditch the train.

Internally his head fell in his hands. Man, what was he thinking. Nothing good could ever come out of this. Whatever he’s hoping for. Whatever he doesn’t want to name. He’s bound to ruin it. He can’t keep his hopes much nowadays or else they come crashing down with utter depressing shit.

He’s depressing shit.

It’s 8 something in the fucking morning. Shut up.

He hasn't opened his mouth the whole morning. The sounds of people shuffling and laughing over others rose around him almost like an invisible force engulfing him. It made him feel smaller, however he wouldn't dare shrink. Because here he was. The definite decision was now. Desperately needing to get out of his head before he could drive himself even more crazy with his silent war. He'd cling on to the sliver of his thoughts hoping maybe that this is a good thing. Or not.

Maybe riding this train alone to work had always been a bad idea. Hiding in the corner of his little world and no one bothers him as they should. Yes it was better this way. They wouldn’t know who the stranger on the train really is. What he’s capable of, the bloodshed—

“Excuse me… sorry…”

He snaps back to the present, body barely showing the jolt he gives in his seat. The sound of your murmuring voice apologizes to the other passengers. He sensed you navigating through the narrow-ish corridor of the cart, hearing the smile in your tone. He huffed under his breath, unclenching his jaw and relaxed the tension in his crossed arms. The smell of new coming sour sweat infused travelers burned his nose and his senses immediately refocused back to you. The shuffling across the empty seat from him already creaking with its weight lets him know you’ve claimed dibs. Congrats.

As usual you kept to yourself in silence save for the occasional tapping of your foot. An involuntary flutter made its way in his heart, picking up your light broken whistles over the growing crowd trying to drown it. He keeps his eyes closed but the long lashes barely open to take an extremely small peak of you; a blurry silhouette closing the umbrella from part two of today's showers. It’s been a weird week full of wet, and to himself he wondered if it meant something. No he wasn’t superstitious. But the universe was funny enough to set him up in the most unusual of situations. Your silhouette sits up straight, finally facing him. There’s a full minute of silence, and outside the train roared to life as the automatic voice of the woman indicated the next stop.

"You know you're gonna get a neck ache if you keep sleeping like that." You started with a playful cautionary to his direction. There was a faint noise of a throat being cleared in the background.

Inside his soul he felt it quiver; a sudden turmoil churning in his stomach would've made him gag. His eye cracked open, and he shut it quickly before you could notice.

Jokes on you idiot, they saw.

"Good morning." You spoke, still so gentle and light with humor. His right gloved forefingers pinched firmly the bicep of his leather covered arm, thinking the muscle ramming in his rib cage might cause a cardiac arrest. He needs to keep sleeping.

He has to.

...

... Damn it.

“…Mornin’.”

.........................................................................

You watch as he cracks open one eye, a cautious flicker meeting your gaze. His posture is slumped, leaning heavily to one side, head almost tucked in his shoulder that you swore would've been at a painful 90 degree angle. He sits still, the tension in his body palpable, giving himself a moment to think of his next move.

With a decision made up, you observe the shifting in his seat--uncrossing his legs with a slight grimace, he stiffened when his right side of his leg made small contact next to the passenger. A small smile silently giving a ‘told you so’ broke through your lips as he reached back, his gloved fingers brushing the skin behind his neck, tenderly rubbing the nick there.

“Sorry, I had to wake you up. It looked like a good nap.” You lament with a smile, observing him get rid of his sore. His hand moved from behind his neck, sliding it over his mouth and stifling a yawn. The faint sound of his breath fills the space making you wonder what kind of night he went through to keep him so tired this morning. He shrugged, seat creaking as he reached down for his usual worn out backpack.

“Needed it either way. Thanks.” He mutters gruffly.

Again the silence fell on you both, both of you crammed in your seats with people next to each other. He rummages in his bag and pulls nothing out. Outside it was thankfully dim as the rain clouds kept pouring. The umbrella survived another wash, but you seriously needed a new one. Unlike yesterday the smell of faint foul humidity wafts in your nose, but your focus remains on him. He returns his backpack underneath, protectively his heel guarding it and busies himself massaging his neck again.

“Bringing a pillow on your next trip wouldn't be so bad. Thought of that yet?" You comment, still surprised by the progress this conversation has carried on to, a feeling of ease washing down you. It didn’t seem he was reluctant to answer anything. Yet.

"I’d be crazy to bring--" He stopped himself. "I mean... fair. Yeah. I'll think about it." He met your eye with a neutral expression, and you leaned a little forward in your seat. The train kept on its path, rocking both of you in your seat. The duffle on your lap feels heavy, droplets of the rain clinging onto the material. The lighting inside the cart continued to be a dull white, one of them on the end of the opposite cart flickering inconsistently. The rumble of thunder passively passes outside the vehicle, heads around you turning and pointing above.

It encouraged you to do the same, asking the man, "Storm was pretty wild last night. Think that's what left you tired last night?"

His eyes wander above for a second, searching, before he lowers his head. "Something like that."

He appeared to have his appearance somewhat disheveled, his hair a little longer again where there was hardly a buzz cut. Now a comb could be used to brush some strands in his hair. The detail strikes you as odd having been one of many times the change isn't trying to hide itself anymore. It was almost concerning to say the least.

"Stress tends to contribute to the growth of hair." The pointer of your finger swivels at a distance to his head. "It was short yesterday."

Prying much? Better not to have asked that. You've come to notice he pauses when he's choosing his words carefully. Either to avoid spilling a 'secret', or has a consistent brain fart with an invisible loading signal above his head. Automatically he settles a flat hand on his head, the forefingers pinch and tug on the hair. Auburn eyes glance to meet yours; lower lid on the left eye twitching.

"I guess I'm due for another cut." Pushing the hair flatly down on his head, the hand falls lamely on his lap. It began to tug the leathered glove of the other. The resurging silence hovered over the air; the feel of your mouth opening to say something; a joke maybe, but nothing comes out. Gosh, this was tough. Really seemed you had it all together for today, ready to jump in and engage. The energy though feels tiring. Something feels off.

You were right--suddenly you're met with his look of scrutiny.

"What?"

Another pause.

"Was that a funny way of asking if I'm alright?" He asks skeptically, shifting uncomfortably.

"The hair?" The chuckle bubbles out of you, a little wavering and you scratch your cheek. "Yes."

The hard gaze in his eyes was wary. Yet there is no hostility there.

"You're weird." He snarks, craning his head back a bit. Okay maybe a little.

A small noise resembling an irk rumbles from your throat, but instead of feeling offended you puff your chest a bit, inclining back in the seat.

"Me?" There's haughtiness wanting to tease him back, crossing your arms with a slight grin. Eyeing the first unusual, you remark, "Say's the one wearing gloves in the summertime."

The man grunts, fisting his hands underneath his arms as if attempting to hide them. It's useless since they’ve been obvious for a long time. He keeps them hidden anyway.

"So what." He states gruffly, almost embarrassed you even mentioned it at all. "Let me be."

"Alright. Just seems we're on the same boat of weirdness." Both of you share a look of caution, you suddenly wonder if the teasing has gone too far. Your smile began to steadily wane. Usually it wasn't in your nature to let the tongue run amok with nonsense between strangers. It appears you've been comfortable doing just that in the last minute or two. Like a glass beneath you beginning to thin--nowhere to tread; instead staying stuck like on a chess board wondering whose piece would advance safely to the next square. And given the way his head hung a little, a hood darkened over his eyes you could almost see the thoughts mulling.

Fun's over.

"W-Well, I can’t assume you are weird. Sorry, I overstepped--" You're taken aback when the apology gets interrupted with his loud sigh.

"I get it. I get it." A gloved hand returns back to his face rubbing the leftover sleep on his face, slowly stilling over his eyes. A split between the middle and ring finger opens; the narrowed eye peaks past them regarding you with an unexplained look. His much needed healing lips thinned letting you process your next thoughts with no hurry. Rather it's a blunt gesture but much like his character it's another mystery you find yourself intrigued by.

"That's the first thing you came up with?" He questioned, the resembling look of a scowl faint on his face. The train rattles slightly unsteady beneath you, making you reach out for the pole right next to you. Fingers clenched around the bar trying to control the motion of your body as the world closed on you both with tension. Or was it you who created it?

"Obviously." The answer left from your lips, eyeing the individual across you with a guarded stare. To make the point you raise your palms up. They're already a little sweaty. Blowing puffs of air to each and grin at him. This wasn't a test was it? Because clearly you felt in trouble.

The man across from you nods a little, relaxing his hand from his face. He sniffles lightly.

"We're definitely not in the same boat."

…Yeah. That was probably true. And yet—

"How'd we end up going from a 'Good morning' to this?" Letting out a small wheeze, your hands cup your face, elbows coming to rest on your bag. "Ridiculous really."

"Yeah."

Yes it was ridiculous. But the nameless tension still doesn't go away.

"No seriously--" A hand leaves your cheek, gesturing at him. "Are you okay? Minus the hair and all that."

As you wait with a patient breath, the announcement arrives at the first stop. People shuffling and murmuring exit outside, new passengers entering inside. The crowd within minutes becomes a little larger and near the entrance, some backing up towards your direction. Loud rustling of jackets; wet and flapping create a new stuffy environment, and just like the past the other day; you silently prepared to make sure the man wouldn't feel intimidated by the crowd.

"Can’t really tell.” A flicker of annoyance crosses his eyes, warily watching the passengers. “Doesn’t really matter.”

“If you don't want it taken seriously then it does feel like it. ” You answer solemnly, rubbing your nose with your knuckles. The latter meets your eyes; pinched eyebrows still strained on his forehead.

He’s silent for a moment, lips thinning and a wary look crosses his eye.

“Why do you want to know about me?”

“Sorry?” Physically you're taken aback.

“Yesterday. And the days prior.” He continues a little more, “You weren’t so subtle, y'know. Wanting to know about me.”

You were ready to answer, mouth opening. And you freeze. It occurred to you it had been aiming to talk and perhaps get his number. But now? You don't know what to say.

"Is there a right answer to this?" You inquire, your voice slightly going tight.

"No.” He crosses his arms, sternly continuing, “You've given me way too much attention than needed. And I want answers."

Woah. That urge to flip him off and, hell, turn the other way was there. Instead you frown deeply.

"Fine. I'm curious about you."

You raise an eyebrow when he scoffs.

"Not the answer you wanted?" Asking him, a little on edge.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. For a second, you think he might shut down entirely. Instead he slumps in his seat, the lights above flickering.

"It wasn’t sugarcoated. I’ll give you that." He said softly. It was enough to lower your guard.

The train takes a turn, gently swaying you both forward despite that tension cranked to 10. Some people around you have briefly turned heads towards your conversation, and you shot them a glare.

"You're right. I haven't been subtle." Shifting a bit in your seat, you pause to listen to the rumble outside the train. It rips across the sky, and you smile. "And yes, I understand...we're also strangers."

"But I'm not trying to corner you. I haven't asked anything too personal or stepped out of line. Well--maybe a little."

He grunts out of agreement and you sheepishly shrug.

The trickles of rain started gliding past the windows, decorative diamonds glistening with the reflection of the lights above. The train entered a tunnel, the one that briefly blacks out for a minute. Suddenly, the lights blackout too, and it sends a couple of sighs and exaggerated murmurs around you. Across, his face is invisible by the light, darkness blanketing your vision but you lean a little forward in your seat.

"I don't know you. But I want to. Believe it or not, I am curious about you." You say, half whispering it to him.

Sliding a hand to your chest, the heart beneath the muscle and skin beats faster than ever. The train rattled, shaking its metallic engines and the chugging skipping stones beneath. And the memory of him asking his concerns about you. That look of regret and...and something else.

"And let's face it--you're also curious about me too."

A quiet stillness shook the cart. The turn of the tunnel ends, abruptly shedding light in the carrier.

And meeting his eyes makes you hitch your breath. They're dull, but no doubt something scared him. Pupils are dilated. Eyes on the edge of widening. He's scared.

"You haven't answered why." He comments quietly.

And you can't help but smile a little, your eyes becoming a little watery.

"You reached out. I'd like to do the same."

There couldn't have been any other answer by that. Not even for a dumb phone number. You really liked seeing him.

His demeanor seemed to be like the flicker of a waning candle. It was sad. Yet, a flame kept itself clinging with the last of its life.

"...A year and a half. That's how long I've been living here."

His eyes look away, and he rubs his neck. The response was curious to you as it was out of nowhere, but before you could ask, he adds, "It's what you wanted to know. Yesterday."

Right...Right!

"And I want to know if you're okay. Can I ask that too?" You chuckle, crossing your arms, expectantly waiting for that answer too. He huffs, looking down at his boots; almost kicking the ground.

"I'm okay. More or less."

You give a firm nod, smiling a little more. "More or less is fine."

The train began to slow down, the passengers gathering their things and began to make their way to the door. The announcement came up, and it was close to his station. A wave of sadness washed over you, disappointed the time was running out. Making progress and now it is ending.

"Want gum?"

He asks suddenly, and you're a little caught off guard again. It (and he) were really doing that to you all day. The clouds on the other side of your window started to break, and the sun started to shine.

"What kind of flavor is it?"

"Hope you're not picky, but it's, uh--" He pulls out the box from his pocket and a bunch of other little receipts and gum wrappers fall out of it. He catches them with his hand, shoving them back. Messy.

"Cinnamon," he states. Ooh so he liked it spicy. Extending your palm out, and with a wiggle of your fingers, you say, "Yes please."

He tugs one out and places it on your hand. It's a little warm, and warm gum doesn't tend to taste good, but hey, this was good. Popping it in your mouth, you let out a sigh of enjoyment when the burn starts to settle. With a couple chews, that good burn brings out the flavor of spicy herb. Better than mint.

Licking your lips, you pause.

"What, do I have something in my face?" You ask, slightly self-conscious when his recognizable stare was narrowed. He shakes his head, mumbling 'nothing.'

Resuming your chews, the hand in your paper crinkles gently.

"So a year and a half in Houston huh? I've been here for 6 months." Fingers began to bend the wrapper, closing it to a square. "I'm afraid I've run into trouble as a non-native here."

"Yeah? I suppose it's the train transportation for one."

A rumble laugh gets to you. "Yes! It has been. Gosh, I...I'd drive instead." You fold the edges, making sure they are equally neat.

"Why don't you?"

Because I wouldn't see you.

"Eh. Traffic is hell. You?"

You pause when he clears his throat, looking elsewhere.

"I...can't." He forces that answer out, and it makes you grin sympathetically. "Train gets me to work faster."

Humming with agreement, the paper wrapper takes the shape of its own mini transportation. "I bet. It does for me too."

Fact he can't drive is a little endearing to you. And it's nice to hear someone taking alternatives rather than just driving. Or making fun of you for it. A small pause to catch your breath. "Where do you work?"

The question felt childish, though it felt right to ask. Hell, it felt like it was leading to that. He saw it coming to, though hesitant when he responded, "Package room. Kinda."

"Kinda?"

"At a construction site. It's temporary."

Ohh. You nodded, not totally unimpressed and straightened out the wrinkled edges of the wrapper. The gum in your mouth burns greatly.

"It's an honest job. Good for you."

At that, he snorts. Meeting his eye gives you some reassurance he looked...proud at that. Like it made his day.

"It is. And where do you--?"

The announcement abruptly announces the stop, and he sighs frustratedly, amusing you when he clenches his fists.

"Swear to God that announcement will kill me one day."

Still though, you laugh. It makes him fume more on his end, watching your body shake and your eyes water, and he reaches for his backpack.

"Wait! Wait, don't go just yet." You say, coughing, and he stops just as he stands up. In your hands, you present to him a small paper boat. Made out especially from his gum. He eyes it warily, and the tips of his gloved forefingers collect it. He's surprisingly gentle as he turns it over.

"This an inside joke from earlier?" He gruffly asks.

Funnily enough you hadn't considered that. It made your cheeks burn a little, and a hand scratched your hair.

"No. The opportunity presented itself I guess. Glad you remembered."

He eyed it a little more, and closed it in his palm. "It's nice."

He nods at you a little, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Thanks. Now this will remind me how today went."

Tilting your head towards the door, the cart is half empty and you knew you had to let him go. He didn't seem to be in a rush, though he had been. If it'll remind him of the day, then it would for you too.

"That a good thing?" You breathed softly, returning to stare back up at him. How could you not ask? He still left you intrigued, and even more now that you both came this far. And the gaze in his eyes seemed to soften the scars around it. The train began to refill back in, and you quickly gestured him out before he could feel overwhelmed. But he doesn't budge. His lips thin, carefully thinking how to respond and he nods firmly.

"It's hopeful. I count that... as a 'good thing' in my book."

With that he casts his sights to the door, muttering 'cuse me', and swiftly avoids bumping the other passengers. Your eyes never left his figure, even when he was gone. The sudden weight of trepidation among other things becoming something of the past. The gum in your mouth burned less.

Shifting in your seat, you look at your still hands.

"Holy shit...we fucking did it."

Next: Chapter 6

Previous: Chapter 4

#kaine parker x reader #kaine parker

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