Archive of Our Own

“Is this seat free?”

“Mhm.”

I sat down, placing my bag into my lap, shuffling a bit in my seat.

The train was unusually crowded, it wasn’t like that during the summer, but again, it was September already and the weather was far from the summer weather. Of course.

I looked up at the man opposite me. He was just sitting there, a opened notebook in his hold, like anybody else.

Like anybody else.

Then he looked up.

I smiled in thanks, he responded with a small smile of his own, but looked down onto the notebook quickly afterwards.

With a tiny giggle, I gazed away and searched for my headphones in my bag. Spending my time in the train, I had already met many kinds of people.

The ones that minded their business.

The ones that talked.

Others that didn’t.

Some liked staring.

Some preferred to be started at.

I’ve seen them all.

After plugging my headphones to my phone, I looked one last time at the man opposite before turning to the window. He was scribbling something into that notebook, a frown of concentration on his forehead.

When I got from work, the man was sitting on the exact spot. I sat where I was sitting in the morning, again, giving him a tiny smile, which he most probably didn’t notice, I suppose. Never mind. I closed my eyes, letting my muscles relax after the whole day, mentally preparing a grocery list. Sometimes I felt the man’s look on me, but didn’t really care. That was what people do, right? I do that…

Recognising the familiar squeal of brakes, I opened my eyes, gripping my bag a bit stronger as I stood up.

The man stood up as well. Funny thing.

With the flow of people I got off the train, turning right to walk along the platform and out into the streets. After several turns I headed towards groceries, grabbing a shopping basket in a routine motion.

Take the asparagus, then move to the freezers and grab salmon and a few other things in different aisles.

I am treating myself.

For what?

Nothing really.

As I was lined in the queue for the cash desk, a not really long one, not that it ever is, I saw the man from the train.

Standing in the queue as well, well, actually, taking out his wallet and paying.

For a chocolate ice cream.

I didn’t try to make eye contact, I did that in the train and with a little success, so I just smiled in amusement and looked at my future dinner.

For almost the the whole rest of my way home I was watching the man, a grocery bag hanging in my grip.

It was September. September!

Not a time for an ice cream, no matter if chocolate or not.

The man apparently didn’t care. Not a single bit.

Leaving my slight bafflement to myself, I watched as the man turned right and stepped up to the porch of his house, munching the last bit of the cone, then proceeded to walk home myself.

In the morning I sat opposite the man again. He gave me a short glance, then looked down into his notebook, scribbling again.

I started to work a bit earlier, already checking my emails in the train, blind to everything around me.

The way back home was the same.

The seat was free, so I took it.

The man was most probably the only one quiet, all the others were chatting or having a phone call. Almost as if by magic, my phone rang as well…

I stopped at the grocery store, but kept wandering through the aisles as I had no idea what I wanted for dinner. Eventually, I ended up with a frozen pizza and a box of cranberry juice.

I treated myself yesterday, no need to overkill. Not really.

This time, the man was standing behind me, watching silently as I packed the things into my grocery bag. Glancing quickly over my shoulder, I saw the chocolate ice cream.

Someone isn’t quite done with the summer, so it seems.

Today, I was the first one in the train. Not the first one, but the man came a bit later. I was already seated comfortably when he sat down to his seat, shuffling and adjusting his jacket and taking the notebook from his bag.

Was it just me, or was the man growing a stubble?

On my way back home, I tried to actually have a look…

Usually I didn’t care about the people in the train, but I felt like this man was somehow, I don’t know… seeing him for three days in a row made me feel like I already knew him, like he was “my guy from the train”, or I would at least refer to him like that in a conversation.

But I didn’t talk about him. Who would I talk about him with?

…And so I looked.

Observed.

Ogled.

No. I didn’t ogle.

He wasn’t ugly. Far from that, to be honest.

Dark hair. Something suspiciously looking like a stubble, but still too short for that.

Quite tall, considering the fact that he tried to stretch out his legs, but couldn’t do so and managed to stretch out only one at a time.

Lean. And with honestly good-looking clothes.

Yeah, well, that was ogling.

It was like that for the whole week.

And the week after that.

And the one after.

And after.

And it was October.

I grew to enjoy the small morning routine. I sat into the train, the man was usually already there and he kept writing into his notebook for the whole ride.

I didn’t know what he was writing, or doing in general, and I didn’t ask. He was a busy man.

I quite enjoyed the sound of his pencil scribbling against the paper.

The evenings, however, I liked far more.

Whenever I went to the grocery shop, he was there. Sometimes, he bought other things as well, but the chocolate ice cream was always there.

He ate it by the time he got home.

I learnt to like him.

A lot.

We didn’t speak, not even a “morning” really, only occasionally, but he always looked up when I joined him on the ride. Sometimes our eyes met. I liked that a great deal. His were blue. So, so blue. I could get lost in them, but I didn’t.

Or maybe I did.

Get lost in him.

The train wasn’t really crowded, since it got dark early not many people used it and so it became kinda comfortable, in its own weird way. Both of us, me and the man, were enjoying the empty seats next to us, the man had his bag placed there and I was curled up on the two seats, already planning my weekend.

“Richard!”

The man opposite me jerked in surprise, snapping the notebook shut and placing it safe into his bag as he saw another man approaching him. I looked behind me to see who it was, but to me it was just an unfamiliar face.

The man, on the other hand, put his bag down between his legs and shuffled a bit to make space for the other one.

“Man, haven’t seen ya in a while!”

I tried not to stare when the other man sat down.

I thought that “my guy from the train” was quite big, but I’ve just changed my mind. The man that joined our quiet company was smiling widely, his big smile hid by a great beard, broad shoulders and muscled arms covered with a dark grey coat.

“Hey, good to see you too,” the man - Richard responded, his voice low, but sincere. He gave me one quick look before immersing into a deep conversation with his friend, chuckling slightly at a comment about his stubble.

It was good to finally place a name to the face.

Richard.

Quietly, I kept stealing short looks, observing Richard’s behaviour and listening to his quiet conversation. Not actually to his words, just the voice.

After a while and with a joyful goodbye the other man got off, leaving the two of us alone again.

Richard cleared his throat awkwardly and I looked up at him.

“A - a friend.”

“Figured as much,” I smiled softly and the man nodded in understand.

Then we got off as well.

Days kept passing and he didn’t change his seat. Not once. Each morning, he was there when I got on the train and each afternoon we sat together in out little bubble. It was so peaceful, calm, he was so…

We have developed a strange non-verbal cooperation: I moved my legs aside so Richard could stretch both of his and he, in return, kept his bag placed on my seat until I came into the train. Sometimes I bought him tea. Sometimes he did the same for me.

We didn’t need words, the short looks each one of us stole during the rides were enough.

I got to know every single detail of Richard’s habits.

The way his tongue stuck out a bit when he was writing into his notebook.

He tugged at the hem of his coat before leaving the train and double checked that his bag was closed.

He actually used the small pocket in his bag that was for pens.

When thinking, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Sometimes, the other man - his friend joined him on our way back home and they chatted, Richard’s voice was always low and he gestured a lot with his hands while speaking. Not always, just so it would make the conversation look interesting.

Not mentioning his little chocolate ice cream problem.

I quite liked the way November changed the weather. It wasn’t freezing cold, just cold, the first snow was crunching under my feet as I walked and the days were short. I enjoyed the long evenings.

Richard walked usually on the other side of the pavement, across the road. Sometimes he was quicker, sometimes he was behind me and other times we were walking basically next to each other with the road separating us.

Now, he stopped for a moment, looking to the right, left and then right again before crossing the road.

There weren’t any cars at all, but he still did that.

Richard was now walking by my side. Close.

“Hello,” I chirped up from under my scarf.

“Evening,” he responded and shuffled a bit closer to me.

He didn’t offer any explanation, so I didn’t ask.

We just kept walking side by side, Richard licking and nibbling his ice cream, sometimes nudging to me with his elbow. I didn’t mind that.

He kept looking over his shoulder too. Quite a lot. He passed his house and proceeded to go by my side. When we were getting close to my place, I slowed down to fish the keys from my pocket. He slowed as well and waited until I took them out and walked up the porch to unlock the door.

“What are you doing?” I couldn’t help myself and had to ask when Richard walked up to me, a bit too close for the fact that we shared less than actual greetings.

“Stay here,” he whispered, a small cloud of hot air escaping his lips.

“Why?” I frowned, feeling shivers running down my spine uncomfortably as I realised I had probably misjudged him terribly. Maybe he wasn’t as “normal” as I thought he would be, maybe all the stolen glances meant something different to him. What have I got myself into?

Richard didn’t answer and placed his hand onto my arm gently, not quite touching, almost as if he was caressing me and stood still.

“Do - do you want to come inside?” I offered weakly, not really sure what situation I found myself in. Richard shook his head slowly, staring over my shoulder at the door blankly and it looked like he wasn’t actually looking, but listening instead, his breaths shallow and slow.

Soon afterwards I heard approaching footsteps crunching in the freshly fallen snow. In the light of the street lamps my look met with the look of the passerby.

The intensity which he stared at me with scared me to the core, piercing my whole body with his vicious glare. There was something not right with him, after he noticed Richard’s hand on my arm huffed in disappointment? disdain? I couldn’t tell, and quickened his Pace to walk away.

Only after that I understood what Richard did.

“Thank you…” I rasped, unable to say or do anything more as I felt my legs weaken and a lump form in my throat.

“It’s alright.”

“Thank you.”

“Shh.”

“Thank-”

“No more,” Richard groped behind my back, opened the door and pushed me inside softly, placing the keys into my palm firmly. Dumbfounded from the shock, I watched him turn on the light and close the door behind himself.

Wordlessly, he took off my cap and scarf and placed them onto the coat hanger, right before pulling at the sleeves of my jacket.

Richard then stepped close to me and wrapped his arms around my back, pressing my head to his chest. He didn’t say anything and soothed my hair in long slow strokes. I leaned in, scared, exhausted and, oh, so confused.

“Lock the door, please,” Richard let go and turned to leave.

All I could do was nod.

He listened to the lock click and only after that I heard his footsteps in the snow.

Why didn’t he stay?

I stayed home the whole weekend, not daring to go out. It wasn’t that bad, on the other hand. I read, cooked and had a cup of tea, actually making a nice weekend for myself. My mind, however, kept wandering back to Richard.

Something changed.

No, it didn’t really change, I felt like it was there from the beginning. I didn’t understand.

He was good to me.

Maybe he just did what was right.

No, he wasn’t like that.

How can I know?

I knew him. …No, I actually didn’t.

I wanted to knock on his door and say what? I didn’t know.

Just kiss- no.

He wasn’t like that.

I dreaded Monday.

Richard watched me sit down, but didn’t say anything. He never did. We shared a small look, I opened my mouth to say something, but didn’t really know what and Richard gave me a short nod, so I didn’t try to force it.

I watched the snow fall slowly, recalling the thing that happened on Friday. I knew it was stupid - I should try to forget about it as quickly as possible, but I just couldn’t get that vile look of the stranger out of my mind.

“Don’t think about it.”

“Pardon?” I snapped from my thoughts, only to see Richard’s blue eyes piercing mine sternly, almost as if he was chiding me.

“Do not think about it,” he repeated a bit slower, emphasising each word.

“Alright,” I piped up, lowering my gaze and started to play with the hem of my shirt instead, not seeing Richard’s small smirk hid by his beard.

“Here,” after a short while, Richard leaned over, a chocolate in his hand, offering me to break off a piece, “it’ll help.”

“Thanks,” I smiled weakly as I bit into the piece in my hand, feeling sweetness pooling in my mouth.

We didn’t mention that topic again and I didn’t think about it anymore.

“Ye have to come for a drink sometime!”

“Mhm,” Richard nodded in agreement, though he didn’t really look pleased by that offer. His friend, however, was happy for both of them. Sometimes I wondered how the two of them got to know each other. They were too different to even share a polite conversation, not yet a friendship. Richard was the quiet one, huddled in his coat and writing into that mysterious notebook of his, whereas his friend somehow managed to fill the whole wagon with merry mood.

Like Santa.

And Richard was apparently on his naughty list.

“Not today though.”

“Understand. Have to escort the lassie, huh?” the bulky man patted Richard on the back and with a cheeky wink turned to get off the train, “whenever suits ye then!”

My head snapped up, cheeks burning up strongly.

And so did Richard’s.

Please, no matchmaking.

“Whenever suits ye” turned out to be the following week on Friday. Richard was restless the whole way back, unable to stay in the same position for longer than just a while, fiddling with a pencil between his fingers restlessly and grasping a wine bottle with the other hand.

“Everything alright?” I couldn’t help myself anymore. He was a real poor sight.

“Yes,” he cleared his throat, obviously lying, “thank you.”

I didn’t really know what did he thank me for, but smiled in response anyway.

“…He doesn’t like wine.”

I knew I should have gotten used to his abrupt confessions and changes of topic, but sometimes I just had no idea what to say.

“But it’s the polite thing to do, isn’t it?”

“He’s more of a beer guy.”

“And you?”

“Wine.”

I knew it.

Richard stood up to get off, earlier than our usual stop, smoothing out his shirt and tugging it in neatly.

It suited him… just like anything else.

He gave me one last look, which I gladly returned and with a small awkward wave left.

After the train moved again I noticed Richard’s notebook on the seat where he was sitting.

I couldn’t just leave it there.

Trying not to look too eager, I reached for it, feeling the leather under my fingertips and placed it carefully into my bag.

For safekeeping.

I felt it staring at me.

Why did it stare at me?

The notebook was lying on my table, I was seated opposite. Almost like Richard and me in the train.

But in my place. In the evening. With Richard nowhere to be seen.

I knew I shouldn’t.

My fingers were getting closer to the notebook. Caressing the front page. Smooth, so smooth, except for a small scratch.

It is not right.

Just a small look.

Not a good idea.

I didn’t dare to breathe as I opened the notebook.

Richard’s name and address. Obviously.

Alright, that was a small look, close it now.

One more page.

A landscape. The look out of the train window in pencil. Beautiful.

Another one.

A garden. Maybe his. Again, shaded with a pencil.

Then his kitchen table, a vase with flowers, an apple…

Then me.

My breath hitched as I looked at a drawing of me gazing out of the train window with headphones in my ears.

Maybe Richard liked to observe people. That was alright, a coincidence.

I flipped to another page. Me checking my emails on phone.

Looking out of the window again. Doing my manicure. Reading a magazine. Smiling absentmindedly. Napping. Huddled in my scarf. Munching a sandwich. And an apple. And a chocolate bar. Calling with somebody. Fixing my hair. Gazing at Richard when I thought he wasn’t looking.

Not a coincidence.

Everything was done so beautifully. Every lock of my hair, twinkles in my eyes. I didn’t know what to do.

I couldn’t stop. I flipped through the whole notebook, looking at portraits of myself from all the different angles, sometimes with small notes under the drawing in neat handwriting. There was a lot of them. Time stopped for me as I observed every single one of the drawings, wondering.

Why didn’t he speak to me? He did. And he hugged me.

But he didn’t say anything. He made sure I was alright. He protected me.

He kept me company. He was there all the time.

Not now, though.

I should have at least taken a coat.

Yes, but I had to take the damned ice cream. Why? I wasn’t even paying him a visit, it was just… just giving him back the notebook and… leaving? Yes, leaving. But hoping for something entirely different.

I found myself patting on an empty street covered with a fresh layer of snow glistening in the light of the street lamps, the notebook in one hand and a box of chocolate ice cream I managed to find in my freezer in the other one. There was no one except me. I should have been afraid, most probably.

But I wasn’t.

Finding Richard’s house was not hard at all, not even in the night.

I’ve seen him unlocking the door so many times, but actually standing there was different.

Knowing that waiting would make me just uncomfortable and anxious, I simply knocked and waited.

For a while.

Then I tried the bell. Twice.

Nothing.

One more time.

I heard footsteps coming, but no matter how many deep breaths I took, the notebook in my hold kept shaking.

Richard opened the door.

Messy. In a grey tee shirt and pyjama trousers. Yawning and rubbing his eyes. Only then I realised what time it was.

“You forgot your notebook in the train,” I blurred out, pushing the poor thing into Richard’s chest, rubbing against the fabric of his tee shirt for a moment.

“Did you…?”

I nodded, not daring to look up. There was no use in lying.

“Sorry for waking you up and for…” I stretched out the other hand, giving him the ice cream as an apology. When he didn’t move to accept it, I pushed it to his chest, like the notebook, but this time Richard hissed at the sudden coldness, startling me and making me completely loose my nerves.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to… that… I’ll just, yeah, I’ll go now…” when Richard kept still, I figured I had crossed the line.

“It’s Y/N,” I added hastily while backing away. No idea why. Thought it might help. How?!

After a small silence, he responded, “Richard.”

“Night then.”

“Night.”

I heard the door closing, but I was already on the streets, making my way home, biting onto my lip nervously.

What was I expecting?

Holding onto the sleeves of my shirt in a cramp and feeling my teeth slowly starting to chatter from the cold I walked back home. Not looking back, not making it worse than it already was.

Shameful.

Awkward.

Me.

A hand. Grabbing my shirt. Making me turn around.

Richard. In his pyjamas. Still messy. Still not fully woken up.

“Y/N.” he exhaled, letting go of my shirt.

A small puff of hot air escaped his lips.

He leaned over, halting for a moment, before pressing his lips against mine in a small, chaste kiss.

He pulled away way too quickly.

“I just thought…”

The rest of Richard’s sentence was lost against my lips.

I felt Richard’s hands still cold from my apology gift on my hips, pulling me closer and my own hands found their way to his chest, holding his tee shirt for dear life.

His beard was tickling my cheeks.

His pulse speeded up a bit as I deepened the kiss.

The aftertaste of wine.

The blue of his eyes watching me from under the lashes.

I didn’t even realise, but soon I found myself in Richard’s doorway again, this time actually crossing it to the warmth of his house. With the corner of my eye I noticed the ice cream box lying on the kitchen counter.

Through the living room. Upstairs. Seeing nothing but Richard’s face. Not really caring about anything else. Last door to the right. Richard’s hands unbuttoning my shirt and pulling down my trousers ever so gently. Bed.

I curled up to Richard, letting him wrap his arms around me and not letting go.

Richard.

It wasn’t quite morning yet when I woke up.

To the sound of a pencil scribbling against a paper.

“Don’t move, please.”

So I didn’t.

“You can finish it later,” I opened one eye, trying not to move too much, watching with amusement Richard lying on the other side of the bed and in the dim light of the room drawing into his notebook.

“Just a minute more,” he bargained and I let him, but couldn’t help but smirk at his childishness.

“You moved.” He said, dead serious.

“I did.” I responded, hiding my giggles.

“I can’t finish it now.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to do new ones.”

“You promise?” Richard placed the notebook onto the bedside table and laid down beside me, letting me lay on his chest and play with his beard softly before scooping me up, our noses rubbing against each other and kissing me softly, his hands buried in my hair.

“I promise.”

The ice cream in the kitchen was surely melted.