Chapter Text
You sit at the edge of your bed, wishing that you could have slept just five more minutes, but then again, you've told that to yourself for a half hour and you went right back to sleep. If you're late to your job, you may as well just hand in your two weeks, this gig is pretty serious about getting there on time.
The apartment is cold and empty. Though it's Summer outside, the chills reach far down into the depths of the building. You remember once seeing something online about apartments in a city in China that are so packed together that they can fit thirty million people. Well, you're in the Bay Area, California, and you're feeling a lot like you live in one of those buildings.
This place is suffocating. It's like if Robert Moses were even more evil than he already was, or like a guy who solely existed to subject people to poor living conditions created an apartment complex. You're packed in like sardines; the walls are so thin that you could have a full, coherent conversation between you and another person next door. It's not like you know anyone though. You purposefully haven't done anything like that.
God, why would you? Everyone here is so weird. They're like grazing pack animals roving towards the nearest green patch so they can mow it all up. You're… effectively the same though. You're here for the same jobs they're all taking, but at least you kind of like coding. Sort of.
When you were younger, you wanted to code, but you were awful at it. You don't think you ever stopped being awful at it, for the record, but you did go through four years of school for it. You know HTML and Java like the back of your hand, but you don't ever do anything interesting with them. Not like you'd ever get paid to do something like that anyways.
You've heard Google has some actually really interesting set ups for their employees where they just give them time to do whatever they want, but your company isn't cool like that. The pay is middling, the office space is boring, the hours are grueling. It has all the trappings of the beginning of the Matrix, or Office Space, except with none of the comedy. Who else could you be referring to other than Skaianet Systems Incorporated. You could have sworn that they used to be a game company, but— you guess not, because there's not an ounce of anything interesting happening at all in this company.
You look over to the clock. 5:43am. You'd better get moving or else you'll risk getting (actually only slightly) chewed out by your supervisor.
You head out of your apartment, grabbing the keys from the table in the entranceway next to the portrait of your father. There's another picture of some guys you went to college with that you were in league with in the Cinephile Club. You sort of miss them, but you always had the feeling like their friendship rang hollow— they didn't know you. Hell, you don't think you even know you.
Sometimes, or maybe a lot of the time, you wish that you changed your major to cinematography, but you were concerned about the job market. When you think of what your dad might've said, it makes you want to cry. He would have told you to follow your dreams. "Damn the torpedoes, son!"
Well, that didn't happen. And you should probably move on, anyway. No use thinking about stuff you can't change.
You look around in the early morning as you walk to the subway. It's mostly people either waking up or having already woken up and gotten to work early. Kids walk with their parents to school. Cars drive by, but they're not plentiful like they are in the evening.
You just scroll on your phone as you walk. 7:50am, making good time. Usually the subway will take about thirty minutes, giving you a healthy amount of healthy I-don't-want-to-be-here-right-now-please-god-kill-me time in the bathroom before you clock in for real.
A woman catches your eye though. You try not to stare— that would be creepy— but she's staring at you. She's staring very obviously at you. She's sitting at a cafe with a laptop in front of her and a fat folio in front of her, nearly spilling out the sides with manuscript pages. She sips a cup of coffee with her legs crossed, full beat with winged eyeliner, short blonde hair, a mid-length grey skirt complete with a dress shirt and suit jacket.
She almost looks familiar, but— most likely not. She almost looks like someone you'd either want to be with or— be...
You really don't want to think about it right now. You truly do not want to turn the whole gender thing into a federal fucking issue again. It's 2018, John, you're living in the future! Be gay! Do crime! You're at the prime of your youth! You mean— you've always been supportive and accepting, but Jesus Christ now is not the time!
Sure you'll just— upend your entire fucking life thus far for something that won't solve the real issue here: making rent. If you had your way and you could reshape your life to your own design, you'd have made yourself a girl off jump. If you had infinite money and time and didn't need to see and talk to people every day, you'd seriously consider it. No— you'd do it. Straight up, you'd do it...
But you're not that person. You don't have all the time in the world to be able to reinvent yourself and take time off to figure out who you are. You're not a tech CEO who writes books about what hiking trails inspired her to write more invasive social media algorithms, you are JOHN EGBERT, A TWENTY-THREE-YEAR-OLD "MAN" working in software development.
Oh no, you're staring. And now she looks confused. Well— of course she's confused, there's some guy looking at her weirdly across the street. Oh— goddamn it, you tear your eyes from her and look to the ground, continuing on your way to the subway.
You get to the office and clock in. You sit at your desk that's— thankfully, in a sort of separated area from the rest of your peers. Not to say that you don't have anyone nearby. You definitely do, but this corner spot is fucking elite. Boundless oppertunities to fuck around and not do your work. The only times you have to really look like you're doing anything is when your supervisor comes over.
You're idle on the company's homescreen. You've been idle on the company's home screen for a while. You got all your daily quotas done and worked on a little bit of the weeklong's quota's. The bugfixes were all made by your other coworkers. That's not to say that they're bad at their job and you're good at it, it's just that— sometimes you feel like you don't really fit in with them at all, especially not mentally.
It's 4:13pm. Oh, hey, 4:13 on 4/13. There's a countdown on the home site that has been bothering you for forever. 11:11:29:23:59. You have no clue what it means, but you're supposedly eleven years, eleven months, twenty-nine days, and fifty-nine minutes from whatever it's counting down to. Whatever's happening on April 13th, 2029 is probably some stupid corporate event. You've asked your coworkers and they either seem like they have less of an idea than you, or incredibly tightlipped. Who knows, maybe Skaianet Systems Incorporated is planning world domination.
Wait— 4/13? That's your birthday. It's your birthday today. You're twenty-four years old and you didn't even realize it.
You check your phone. There's nothing there. It's completely dry. You lost contact with your friends from college, and you never really had any friends in school to begin with. You guess you used to have friends online, but not really anymore. You don't have your birthday on any social media, so no mutuals of yours are going to know— none of them are friends enough with you to know anyways. You could make a post saying that it's your birthday, but you'd feel weird and bad about that, like you're seeking attention or something.
Your old friends wouldn't have forgotten your birthday. Your dad wouldn't have forgotten your birthday either. You think about him. The thoughts slowly form a death march. You miss your dad. You really do.
It's not as simple a thing as visiting him. He's dead. The house was sold. You have the money locked up in a security deposit. You have his ashes in your apartment.
Sometimes you do think of visiting him though.
Suddenly, a woman's voice calls out, startling you. "John." You look over.
Your supervisor is standing there. She has her casuals on. Today is Friday after all. (Oh, geez, Friday the thirteenth). She's kind of odd, but you're not sure if you should really think about it. You've just... never seen someone with gray skin before meeting her. She's always kind of dressed weirdly too. She's always wearing something on her head. Most of the time, it's a shawl that does look quite fashionable, but— you're not too sure why she can break the dress code like that. Maybe it's for religious reasons...?
She also has yellow eyes. You'd probably think that she was a demon or an alien, but even you wouldn't stoop to such stupidity.
"I heard it-" She blinks. "John, are you okay?"
"yEah-" Voice crack. As it so happens, you haven't spoken today... at all. Not once to say hi to your coworkers, not to say hi back to your coworkers, and not to order any food or anything. They usually don't talk to you, but that's just the work culture. They don't really talk to anyone. Sometimes they do, the ones that are friends, but they keep themselves distant from everyone else.
You go to rub your eyes, but your hands come away wet.
"You just look—" she says, pausing briefly. "Like you were crying?"
"I know— I wasn't— was just- uh- like- drinking water and then- it- got on my face." You grab a plastic water bottle you drank hours before that you got from the company fridge.
She seems awkward, just nodding. Goddamnit, you've gone and made her uncomfortable by virtue of how weird and stupid you are. "Well— we're all ending early today. It's the division's 'birth'-date. I was going to take a couple people out to a bar as celebration."
"Uh. Okay. Have fun." you say, looking at the floor and fixing your face to contentment.'
"...Are you not going to ask to come along?"
"Do you want me there—?"
"Well— not if you don't want to go...?"
You think for a second. "No- I- I can't. I have deadlines to finish."
She looks to the blank homepage on your computer, then back to you.
"Uh, alright. Have a— good night then— we'll catch you later."
...
Something wakes you up. Something pulls you from the icy cold depths of your sleep, leaving you disoriented and slightly stunned. The sleep is still in your eyes as you look around the room, forgetting for a moment where you are.
It's like your childhood bedroom. Seeing the posters of the shitty movies on the wall really makes you reconsider if you ever had taste to begin with. When you think like that you try to remember that one director or whatever who said something along the lines of "revel in your bad taste, take in the fact that you know better," but in times like these, you can't.
You look around until it becomes apparent that this isn't your room. It's just the dark of your office. The sun has gone down. It's— what? 7pm? You were supposed to leave work an hour ago at most. Why did they let you stay here? Why didn't they just wake you up? Do they seriously hate you that much?
No... you guess this is self-imposed. They all left already, supposedly, because it's the division's birthday or something. The computer screen is the only thing illuminating the room. On the desktop, there's a window open to a chatlog, except the chatlog is empty. There's nothing in there.
You sigh and rub your eyes and begin gathering your stuff when you hear something come from the speakers. It's a sound you've not heard in years, kind of like a skype notification. Someone's messaging you but— there's nothing there.
This... UI is wrong. You've worked on messaging apps before, but this is like that obscure client you and your friends used to use way back in the day. Pesterchum, that's it. Your company uses Microsoft Teams though, the vapid, boring Corporate Memphis, Arial font.
This is terribly outdated and... shouldn't be installed on this computer? You hope you don't get in trouble for that. You should shut the computer off before you leave. You go to exit the window, but the notification noise happens again. When your mouse is over some of the window, it says there's text there, but there's not. The caret is eagerly awaiting a response to... nothing.
Then you remember a trick that people would play on you way back then. There was text color customization, and— normally it would stop you from using certain colors that would blend too well with the background, but some people were able to break it with a simple java plugin. You got your start in coding through modding your own program files for fun— you know this stuff.
The easy way around it would be highlighting the text...
Lo and behold, there's text there.
You're going to regret your refusal to the call.
However, it's likely that you already do regret your refusal to the call. You live a sad, middling, pathetic life as a software boy, working for a company that wouldn't exist without my help. Everything in life has passed you by, because once you meant something, and now you don't.
Hold on, that the hell is going on here. You start to feel a rising panic.
GT: what is this
GT: what do you want with me
GT? ghostlyTrickster, that's your old screen name. How did it get here? And why doesn't he have a username?
Doc: Do you understand me, John? You're going to regret making me an enemy.
Doc: You don't understand how immensely powerful I am.
GT: dude please i just work here
GT: if you want to random money i'll have to call someone
GT: i don't have anything you want though
GT: like crypto?? i don't have crypto???
Doc: Are you seriously this dense?
Doc: Or perhaps your senses for the supernatural have dulled so much since you were younger.
Doc: John, I'm much more powerful than some mere moron on the other side of ransomware.
Doc: I'm something that should horrify you.
Doc: I am, for all intents and purposes, a god, John.
Doc: You have made a god very angry with you.
Doc: A god with very real, tangible power.
Doc: You should be afraid, very afraid in fact.
GT: what did i even do???
Doc: Do you recall a silly little computer game by the name of Sburb?
Doc: A silly little inconsequential thing such as that?
Doc: It should have been given to you on the thirteenth of April, 2009.
GT: dude is this about a fucking videogame
Doc: No, it's not just about the fate of a copy of a videogame, it's about the health of your own reality and the narrative in which you stole from me when you dashed its plot against the walls, its entrails spilling out and now spelling your doom. Perhaps there is still a story here to behold to, but I highly doubt that it will include you.
GT: what are you talking about
GT: i'm going to block you if you don't stop i swear to god
Doc: Swear to me all you want, there will be consequences notwithstanding whether you do or don't.
Doc: This cannot be rectified John, expect retribution.
Doc: But here me when I say this.
GT: i'm closing out of this window
GT: leave me alone you fucking freak
Doc: Don't you dare close out of this window.
GT: or what??
GT: who even are you??
Doc: I'm someone who knows you, John.
Doc: I'm someone who knows everything about your pathetic, miserable little life you've secured.
Doc: I'm someone who knew how to make you a hero, who could make you a man.
Doc: Now there's no remedy for you.
GT: alright buddy
Doc: Don't you fucking dare close out of this window.
GT: yeah or what
Doc: I have printouts of all your social media right here with me.
Doc: It'd be a shame if your family were to see this.
What a nasty thing to do.
You should feel panicked right now but... you just feel a dull pain in your chest. It's almost like you've already come to terms with something like this happening. You never thought it would though. It'd be outing you though— you talk at lengths to an audience of pretty much no one about... pretty embarrassing things in all honesty.
You've been told about online privacy, but you just didn't really care. You guess these are the fruits of your pernicious devil-may-care attitude. Using your social media like a diary is a vice of the modern age you indulge in heavily. You have no one to talk to.
Or, maybe you just started tearing up because he mentioned family.
GT: i don't care
GT: i don't have any family
Doc: Oh, right, I had forgotten the couple of developments I had noticed, other than your age. You haven't really changed much though, have you.
Doc: How would you feel about your job knowing these things.
GT: i don't care
GT: i'd probably just kill myself if i got fired
GT: you greatly overestimate how much i have to live to live for
You close the window and stare at the blank desktop. You start packing your things up. Your eyes have dried by now. You don't need a fucking weirdo like that troubling you anymore than the weirdos around the office. You start out the door. The entire office's lights are off. It's somehow already dark out.
You hear your phone go off. It's the same— notification what the hell. As you walk out, you see a push notif about some kind of...
It's... Pesterchum? That's— that can't be—
You open the app and it loads stunningly fast. That... makes sense you guess since this app was made for phones ten years before this one. Last conversations were... oh...
Your last conversations were eight years ago in 2010. Except for one that you've got a notification in. It's for... turntechGodhead. Dave?
-- ghostlyTrickster [TT] started pestering turntechGodhead[TG] --
You just stand there dumbly in the elevator for a few moments. How is this happening? What series of glitches has occurred in order for this to happen by random chance? How did this app that was delisted from the appstore get back on a phone that never had it downloaded to begin with-
TG: john?
GT: dave is that you?
TG: holy fuck dude how many years has it been
GT: dude like
How many years has it been? How many years has it actually been? It's almost like you don't know anything about him at all anymore.
GT: eight
TG: dude we thought you died
GT: you guys thought i died???
TG: well you just sort of disappeared one day and never said anything to anyone
TG: you stopped responding to messages and then not long after that you
You stand in the empty elevator for a few seconds. You breath hitches for a moment in almost disbelief. You've never been prone to hallucinations or even getting lost in fantasies— but you can't believe this.
GT: dave
GT: i don't know what to say
GT: i'm so sorry
GT: i didn't know you guys actually cared about me like that
GT: i didn't know that you guys would have really noticed if i was gone
TG: dude
TG: fucking chill first of all
TG: second of all of course we cared about you
TG: we were all antisocial losers in our bedrooms who hated our parents and played shitty computer games together
TG: i knew like tops four people back then, and one of them was my bro so do the math dawg
TG: and like how would we not have noticed
TG: you were one of three people i talked to
TG: you were one of three people rose talked to and you were one of three people that jade talked to
TG: like i need you to think for a fucking second egbutt
TG: none of what you're saying even makes sense
TG: like i'm actually kind of offended man
TG: i thought we had some genuine fucking bromance going on
TG: now you're turning around on this gay ass nobody cares about me bullshit
TG: now all we got is brokeback mountain
-- ghostlyTrickster [GT] is now an idle chum. --
TG: holy fuck bro that's so fucked up
TG: you don't even give a shit about my doomed yaoi
-- ghostlyTrickster [GT] is now an active chum. --
GT: i'm sorry i'm sorry!!!!!
GT: dude i was getting on the subway i'm sorry!!!!
GT: dave are you still there
GT: dave?
-- turntechGodhead [TT] is now an idle chum. --
GT: fuck dude i'm so sorry
GT: i was just getting on the train!!!!
GT: I HAVE A JOB!!!!!
GT: I'M NOT PROBABLY UNEMPLOYED LIKE YOU ARE
-- turntechGodhead [TT] is now an active chum. --
TG: yo
TG: oh shit
TG: soz man
TG: i went to go get a fucking drink from the fridge
TG: man fuck it pesterchum always was stupid and illogical with how it worked
TG: i really don't think you needed to react like that
GT: what did your bro attack you or something lol
TG:
TG: dude what
TG: no
GT: oh my bad lol
TG: i'm literally an adult
TG: i don't let him beat my ass anymore
GT: okay geez man
GT: i'm sorry
TG: i mean it's fine
GT: it doesn't sound fine
TG: it's fine
GT: do you wanna talk about it
TG: whatre you fucking gay
Oh. You... forgot what he was like. You remembered for a minute but— for some reason you just forgot all of the negative stuff. You sort of forgot the way he made you feel sometimes. An unfortunate cocktail of witticisms and pop culture references and shame. For some reason you feel like he wasn't intending to shame you, but rather someone else.
Oh, yeah, and he'd probably say something about having cocks and tails on your mind or something because of what you just though. You shutter. Twitter is scary enough with the amount of porn bots. Now there's furry porn accounts. But at least those accounts aren't bots, they're artists.
For some reason you think of Jade. No. Not for some reason, you think that it was pretty obvious that she was a furry. It was a closely guarded secret of hers that Dave probably told you at one point by accident as a passing joke. Maybe she's out there somewhere making bank off being a furry porn artist or something. You don't know.
GT: uh
Fuck. The message. You hadn't considered the message. Now it looks like you're genuinely considering being gay.
GT: nno
TG: took you pretty long to think of a reply to a simple yes or no question
TG: it wasn't even a question dude, that was rhetorical
GT: oh, yeah duh
TG: well now you've got me thinking man
GT: thinking what
TG: are you gay?
GT: no
TG: i didn't finish
GT: oh sorry
TG: your response times are sus man
TG: first you take like thirty seconds to think it over
TG: then when your attentions on it you give me one word response nary a fucking second delay
TG: so like
TG: i just wanted to know
TG: like you know i'd support you and shit
GT: you would?
TG: yeah
TG: i'm gay
...He's fucking with you. He's fucking with you. This has to be a bit. He just got done calling you gay as an insult there's no fucking way that you're falling for this bullshit.
...Even if you were gay you wouldn't— like— tell him of all people. Jesus Christ— Dave motherfucking Strider would have a field day with that. But if you avoided the question that'd be sus as fuck. This is a bit. This is an improv bit. Not committing to the bit would be completely— that'd blow your cover.
Jesus Christ, John, think of your improv training!
GT: i'm not just gay
GT: i'm bi
TG: oh, cool
No— no no no— FUCK this is NOT what was supposed to happen. You were supposed to be abiding by the rule of yes-and, and he just fucking wrecked everything. This is bad. This is really really bad. You need to clarify. But— what if he's just tricking you— what if this is still a bit.
GT: yeah like i'm bi
GT: but i only fuck dudes
TG: oh so you're gay
GT: no like i'm bi but i only fuck dudes
TG: like you're only attracted to dudes or like
GT: yeah dude i'm only dude
GT: i only fuck men
TG: so you're gay
GT: yeah but i'm bi
TG: man then what's the point
GT: cause being gay is kinda fucking gay??
Checkmate. You have just turned the tables on this game of gay chicken.
TG: yeah that's the point
TG: dude of course being gay is gay what the fuck are you on about
TG: nevermind man i'm not even gay
Sweet fucking merciful victory.
TG: i'm bi too
GT: yeah i'm not gay eith
GT:
TG: oh
TG: so you fucking lied to me
GT: dave i can't tell when you're joking and when you're not
TG: gay is an umbrella term man
TG: i didn't mean it literally man
GT: oh my fucking god dude
TG: wait so you're not gay
GT: i thought you were being homophobic!!
TG: dude why would i be homophobic my dog is gay
GT: you have a dog now?
TG: no
GT: fuck you
You put the phone down for a second as the train slows to a halt. The doors open. Everything is surprisingly quiet. So quiet that it unnerves you. You just noticed it now but— the train car is empty. Completely empty. This is... wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on ends.
TG: don't hate me cause you ain't me bro
TG: i'm gay and doing drugs and crime and shit
TG: and you're some lonely straight guy without a fucking clue in the world man
A woman walks in, her heels clicking against the metal ground, but her footwork is sloppy and— is dilapidated a word that can be ascribed to movement? As you scan her from bottom to top in a couple of seconds, you realize that it's the same woman you saw this morning.
Her top button that she previously had fashioned is a bit out of shape, like it's been nervously worked. Or maybe been tugged at? Her hair isn't messy, but it's definitely not as well kempt as it was this morning. You don't know much about girl stuff, but it's like she fell asleep while laying down. Your hair is straight and does that sometimes.
Her eyes are tired. She scans the train car for an adequate seat, and finds one everywhere. As she looks around to you, your eyes meet. Strange... purple pupils stare back at you, dilating, as if something just activated in them, or rather, behind them. Some inner working mechanism, slowed from fatigue, clicks into place, and she adjusts accordingly.
She straightens her posture and decides the most optimal seat would be nearly directly across from you. Because... of course she would. You can't ever have anything easy, can you? That's rhetorical. Of course it can. You're just a wimp.
She's so pretty. You almost don't want to look in the same general direction as you. You feel a deep, almost cutting envy deep in you. Something wretches and pules in jealousy. You try to obscure your feelings, but your face twinges in sadness. It's a terrible feeling to know and be aware of a terrible feeling. —Terrible in the way that you know you're a worse person for thinking it.
Something just seems so oddly familiar about her though. You want to look— you want to figure it out, but you're too afraid to now. Purple eyes... Where have you seen that before...?
That's right!! Alexandria's Genesis!! Gosh, you know, you'd like to think you're savvy to internet hoaxes, so you immediately disbelieved the myth, but having a real person with Alexandria's Genesis in front of you just really does blow this caper wide open, now doesn't it. :B
Well, you wouldn't want to stare now. Those guys are supposed to be like superheros or something. You forgot what they were supposed to be. Natural psionic supermodels? Something like that.
GT: sorry, a girl just walked into the train car
TG: lmao why would you care??
TG: it's a train car
GT: well nobody else is here
GT: she's the only person on the train car with me
TG: oh, yeah i guess that is weird
TG: what's the time zone difference between houston and washington again
TG: cst vs pst is like an hour or two time difference right?
GT: oh, i don't live in washington anymore
TG: oh shit you finally made it out of the trenches
GT: well i wouldn't call the suburbs of washington the trenches exactly :B
GT: but yeah i moved out after college and the house got sold
TG: damn
TG: you're making moves man
GT: i live in san francisco now
GT: the commute to work sucks cause i don't have a car but like, what are you gonna do, yknow
TG: you don't have a car?
TG: the fuck kinda shit is that
GT: well i don't need one
GT: there's a subway man
TG: damn i guess that's fair
TG: what if you need to leave the bay area though
GT: more trains
TG: can't you get the money from the house to buy a car?
TG: or did your old man lock that up
GT: uh
GT: nah man, security deposit, it's in a trust fund or some shit
TG: that fucking sucks
TG: so you don't have a house, you don't have a car
TG: what do you have
GT: bad company health and dental insurance
GT: too much and too little in my savings
GT: bad credit
GT: no friends
GT: terrible job
TG: okay jesus christ man why don't we just fucking kill ourselves or something
GT: sorry dude
GT: i've just had it rough
TG: so have i
TG: things kind of haven't been great for me either
TG: i hardly have a job dude
TG: but i'm making some money through patreon
GT: what are you like a youtuber now or something hahaha
TG: no lol i make music
GT: oh shit you're dropping some fire beats? :B
TG: yeah uh
TG: something like that
TG: yeah
The train started to move a while ago. You've been wrapped up in the conversation but— the woman is no longer on the other bench. You look around and there she is to your side, staring at you. She's much clearer now. You look over and then look down to your phone, only to realize that she's still... staring at you, undeterred from your acknowledgement.
You look up to her and swallow before speaking. "Hi?"
"Hello." she says, almost monotonal. It's like she's trying to figure something out. You flit your eyes back and forth and then decide to go back to your phone. She slowly looks down to the ground, then out the window, crossing her one leg over the other.
GT: she just came over to my side
TG: who
GT: the lady
TG: okay and?
TG: man what are you doing
TG: get yourself together
GT: there's something wrong about her
TG: okay man that's kinda judgy
GT: not like that!!!
GT: she's super fucking pretty
GT: and like
TG: oh so you want her
GT: no!!!!!
GT: i could never dude!!!!
TG: right cause you're gay
GT: I'M NOT GAY
TG: sounds pretty fuckin gay to me man
GT: dude i can't talk to her!
GT: she's super fucking pretty and she has that one disease
TG: oh so that's why you're acting like this
TG: cause she has a disease or some kinda disability
TG: are you like a toddler on a bus who stares at every disabled person you see
GT: dude fuck off she's staring at me!!!!
TG: like actively?
GT: no not actively but she was!!!!
TG: she probably just zoned out or something
GT: dude she's been doing it
TG: okay? then tell her to stop?? tf??
GT: i think i did
TG: okay then what's the problem, is she staring at you now?
GT: no
GT: well now i'm worried that i have something on me
GT: i'm not an interesting looking person man
TG: okay well that's just
TG: not true
TG: i think
GT: wow, stunning confidence
TG: i don't know man
TG: send me a picture of yourself
You open your phone's camera and flip the thing around to take a picture of yourself. You try to brush your hair out with your hands a little bit to make it look better. You send the picture
-- ghostlyTrickster [GT] sent [IMG_1770.jpg]
GT: do i look weird or something????
TG: no you look fine
TG: i mean
TG: i can see why she'd be looking at you
TG: but it's fucking creepy that she's just staring at you
TG: this lady's fuckin tweaking, you gotta get away from her
GT: yeah
TG: wait
TG: it's dangerous to go alone
TG: take this picture
-- turntechGodhead [TT] sent [image.png] --
It's Dave, obviously. But... geez... he's a lot older now. You guess that shouldn't be surprising... obviously... You feel stupid for that.
He's got locs tucked under a bandana over his head. Still with those ugly fucking Ben Stiller shades that touched his weird gaunt sort of face. It's... cool though. Actually cool. The consistency since the last time you saw him. As a matter of fact, you're pretty sure it's the same room too. The one he nearly destroyed when he was younger.
You feel a pang of... guilt? Sadness at what once was? You're really not sure. He's pretty. You've had years to come to terms with an attraction to him. You only really realized it after however long so...
You push the feeling down.
You get up and pretend to go over to the door as the train slows. You can see her still staring at you through your peripheral vision. You're beginning to sweat a little bit. As it slows, you exit the train. The cold night air hits you like a truck. Was it hot in there?
You rush over to the other train car and sit down.
Okay... okay... there's people here, you're safe.
GT: okay i'm safe
GT: what did you mean you can see why she'd be looking at me
GT: is there something wrong with me
TG: no?
TG: yeah no not what i said?
GT: well you said like
TG: yeah i said that cause i could see why she would be looking at you
GT: why
TG: cause you look interesting bro
...Great. You look interesting now. That's just great, Dave, but right now you'd prefer more than anything to fucking blend in so you don't get singled out like you just did.
The train starts moving again.
GT: wow thanks man
TG: nevermind man
TG: it was supposed to be a compliment
TG: we could be yaoi but you playin
GT: what is yaoi
GT: you said it twice now
TG: uh
TG: it's like
GT: i've heard it on twitter too wtf is yaoi
TG: it was a joke
GT: are you seriously gonna make me look it up
The first thing that comes up is a Wikipedia article. Let's see...
Boys' love (Japanese: ボーイズ ラブ, Hepburn: bōizu rabu), also known by its abbreviation BL (ビーエル, bīeru), is a genre of fictional media originating in Japan that depicts homoerotic... relationships between... male... characters...
You're going to fucking kill him you swear to god.
TG: don't do that
TG: john don't
TG: not on the train john
GT: DAVE
TG: okay
GT: DAVE STRIDER
TG: yeah that's me
GT: DAVE I'M GOING TO KILL YOU
You turn your phone off as the train slows down for the next stop. People get off the train. You're still on it. You hate this line. It always feels like it takes twenty stops. People shuffle on and off and you huff a sigh of tiredness. You missed this feeling. The feeling that Dave gave you. The stupid chicanery he would pull would always exhaust you, but it would leave you with your heart full somehow.
You sit back and watch as the train doors close again. You relax, putting your head on the back of the seat and staring up at the ceiling.
You hear the click-clacking of the girl's heels, making their way up the train car. You tense up and open your phone, pretending like you're busy because that usually works. FUCK- NO- THE YAOI IT'S STILL ON THE SCREEN
"You-" You put your phone away as fast as possible. You're practically sweating goddamn bullets. You have the impulse to begin hyperfixating on animals of the equine nature for some reason. Goddamnit it— stupid brain— shut up!!
You look up at her, swallowing a lump in your throat. She seems stunned by your ferocity with that move. You half begin to begin to say something, but she cuts you off.
"You ran away from me." Her voice is smooth and calm, like a mountain lake's undisturbed, pristine waters. It's almost sultry? No, learnéd; spoken with a cadence that tells you that she had enough money to go to an Ivy League. She seems so familiar— you feel so fucking stupid for not knowing but-
"Why would you do such a thing," she says. "Do I scare you?"
"I- I uhm-" Yes?? "No- I- I was getting poor reception back there."
"It's a train. If you're getting poor reception on your device, you can just wait until we get closer to a cell tower."
She sits down next to you and leans closer to you. You lean away.
"C- can you-"
"Do I know you?" she says.
The smell of alcohol on her breath is palpable. She smells like expensive perfume and vodka as strong as rubbing alcohol. Her eyes are dilated and focused solely on you. There's that purple again. You scooch away but she follows you. Her body heat transfers to you. It's fucking cold out— how is she so warm.
"Do I know you," she repeats.
A twinge of remembrance flirts with your vision and you see... Rose in her. The eyes are the same, but she looks so different. You see her face and her eyes in this woman, but for some reason, you can't even begin to wrap your head around the slightest possibility that it could be her. Your heart beats faster with nameless guilt. Why does this feel wrong?
She begins to hover above you. You feel like you're about to cry, this is too much. Nobody is coming to save you and for a second you really begin to feel yourself slipping underneath a soft snowy blanket of unconsciousness. Your face contorts with fear. You can't smell anything except Chanel, cigarettes, and alcohol.
Her face is so close to yours that you can feel the heat from her breath steaming up your glasses. Your heart is beating so fast it feels like it's going to catch fire and burn away slowly. Your chest rising mismatches her slow breathing, almost as if she's calculating this entire thing— or rather mulling it over in her mind what her next move is. The cold, detached look in her eyes fills you with a sense of dread so strong that you feel it soak your soul in a deluge of panic.
Why do you like this? This isn't normal. You're scared for your life. She's going to do something— she's going to hurt you— she's going to kill you, John— this isn't normal. Why do you like the way it makes you feel? What's wrong with you?
"Have some self-preservation John!" Rose would say. Rose... She looks just like Rose. She... is Rose. You close your eyes, half to avoid crying, half to pray.
"R- Rose—" you squeak out. "Rose— please—"
Your breath hitches as you feel her body heat get closer until she—
She hugs you.
"It's so good to see you, John."