Cosmos | Markhyuck Oneshot

Cosmos

Mark Lee was a hard worker.

Every day he woke up with the sun, and every night he went to bed when the stars were twinkling and the moon was high in the night sky. He organized and organized, always writing into a small leather-bound book that he carried in his messenger bag and always fiddling with a pen in his hand. The pen had been a gift from his little brother, and he was a bit put off with how little ink was left in the writing utensil. 

When he wasn't writing schedules, reminders, names, positions, meeting times, and phone numbers for calls to make, he was typing. He was familiar with the keyboard he typed charts and spreadsheets onto, the keys worn with age and use. His co-workers ceaselessly teased him and suggested that he get a new computer, but Mark wasn't one to spend money on a computer when he could still use the mediocre one. 

He was punctual too. He was never a second late and he was never a second early. It was truly an impressive feat. If there was a morning meeting at 7, he would be there right at the second hand hit the hour. He woke up at the same time every day and he followed a strict schedule. Wake up at 5:45; go to the bathroom right after; brush hair and get dressed at 5:50; eat breakfast at 5:55; read the news and check emails while he finished his morning coffee and meal; at 6:20 he brushed his teeth and his hair, getting the last of his things ready; 6:30 he had his messenger bag slung over his torso with his lunch box in his other hand. 

His train was at 7:00 every morning, give or take a couple of minute as per the traffic of the day. Mark always stood near the door in the third train car, and if that wasn't available he would find the closest available spot to that area. He was punctual, yes, and he appreciated routine. 

Which was why he appreciated the musician. 

The musician was a young adult about his age, brown hair and sun-kissed skin. He sat on a bench across the train tracks -- always the same bench and always the same spot on the bench. He wore black slacks and usually paired them with a t-shirt in the warmer weather, a sweatshirt and coat in the colder weather. He never wore any hats, and he never changed his shoes -- always using the same beaten up white ones that were smeared with dirt and paint. 

The only thing that changed from day-to-day was the instrument that the musician had in hand. Sometimes it was a violin. Sometimes it was a trumpet. Sometimes it was a guitar or a saxophone or even a keyboard. 

Today, as Mark walked carefully up the left side of the concrete stairs of the train station - careful as always to avoid the puddles that formed from the broken water system - he could hear the soothing wail of a violin. He smiled, looking down at the watch fit around his wrist to see that he was just on time as always. If the train was a bit late today, he would get to enjoy a bit more of the musician's music. 

The office worker moved to stand in his usual spot, directly across from the musician. Mark look at the other in a scrutinizing manner. Plain black t-shirt with his black slacks, same shoes, no hat, same spot on the bench, same bench too. He's got his case close on the bench next to him, never taking donations as usual. 

Mark nodded in satisfaction. The other was the same as always. 

Put at ease by the sameness, Mark waited patiently for the train to arrive, listening to the swell of the musician's tune. His face was relaxed, a contrast to usual furrowed brows of concentration that most musician's sported. He was leaned back and his leg rested carefully in a perpendicular manner to his leg that rested in a normal sitting manner. 

The bow moved like water over the taunt strings, the other's fingers dancing across the neck of the instrument. The violinist's head tilted slightly, resting carefully and comfortably on the chin rest. The distant blare of the train's horn sounded, getting closer as each moment passed. Mark sighed a bit, wishing even for just a moment longer to enjoy the pleasant music.