extraordinary

ordinary

Foreword: I try my hardest to leave Y/N with neutral pronouns so any reader can feel emerged, however, I will not lie, I may slip up. I also may use terms TRADITIONALLY applied to a certain gender (ie: pretty, handsome, etc) but these in my mind are not necessarily gender related in the way I am using them. If they start to make you feel like they take away from the story, please let me know. I apologize in advance if this occurs. My pronouns are she/her btw! Please enjoy.

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Emerging from the turnstile, I huff, stuffing my metro card hastily into my pocket.

I'm on my last fare.

"Have to refill my card soon," I murmur to myself, going over numbers in my head. Where I'd find the cash, I'm not sure, but hoping over the turnstile? Not going to happen. I have more respect for MTA than that. Plus, I'd probably trip and embarrass myself, getting caught right away.

Harry Styles' "Fine Line," album rings through my earbud. A new favorite, a year or two late. I scan the platform cautiously, keeping an eye out for any suspicious activities, tapping my toes impatiently for the 1 train uptown.

A woman holds her child's wrist and scolds him for something just out of earshot. The little boy whimpers and holds back a cry, upset his mother is unhappy with him.

A homeless man sits with his life in bags around his feet on the bench. He is sleeping.

I look away. It's best not to stare.

The next Uptown 1 train is arriving. Please stand away from the platform edge.

I take a small step backwards.

A flood of people rush off the train as I squeeze my way inside. There are no seats. I stand near a pole in the middle of the car and hook an elbow around it. Best not to touch it directly. This is New York City after all.

Please stand clear of the closing doors.

A ding rings through the train signaling the closing of the doors.

"Wait! Hold the car!" A man calls out, running towards us.

Another man sticks his foot out to stop the door, causing them to open, letting him slip in just in time.

He is out of breath.

"Thank you."

He is handsome. His skin is dark, his brows sit squarely, neat facial hair wrapped around his mouth. He is probably 5' 10" or 11." He smells nice.

Stop being weird. Don't smell strange handsome men.

"Sam."

He smiles at me.

I like his smile.

"Sam?"

"My name. I apologize; I couldn't help but notice you looking at me. I just wanted you to know, I'm Sam."

I smile warmly, "Nice to meet you, Sam."

People don't talk to each other on the train. What the hell are you doing?

The car screeches to a halt, jolting me back into Sam. I can feel his warmth on my back. I blush, embarrassed.

"I'm so sorry!" I adjust and stand back up.

He doesn't say anything. His brows are furrowed, staring out the car window. Only then do I notice we have stopped underground between stations. Outside of the dingy light of the car, it is pitch black. Not even the dim safety lights outside remain. I frown.