Holiday

Journey

When the day of our travel arrived, we had a decent and excited breakfast before leaving for our midday train. In suspicious contrast to everything else in our lives, there weren't any hitches in our journey, and our train arrived on time.

We found our seats; a table with three on either side, and two off to the side.. I sat by the window opposite Lockwood, with Quill and George sat beside him. Holly sat with her flatmate off to the side, our hand luggage spread across the empty spaces. Throughout our journey, we chatted excitedly and nervously, with Quill stressing about people calling in for cases and George stressing about where we'll be getting food. Holly quelled each of their problems, although they pretended she hadn't, and grumbled for a good while.

Eventually, everyone settled down. George brought out a comic, Holly a scrapbook, Quill a book, and I my sketchbook. Unlike the others, however, I wasn't interacting at all with it. I pretended to, yes; I held my pencil thoughtfully, waving it over my page before 'changing my mind'. It wasn't long, though, before I stopped even that. My mind was preoccupied, gazing out of the window.

You see, the last time I was on a long-distance train, I was visiting my family back home. As the memories flooded back to me, my hand tightened around my pencil so hard I wasn't certain there was any blood flow. My chest tightened, my throat closed up, and an overwhelming sense of panic flooded my body. I couldn't move, I couldn't even speak.

Something cool grasped my wrist. It freed me, and suddenly, I could move again. I looked up. Lockwood, who was still almost zoned out, looking at the countryside out of the window, had reached languidly across the table with his free hand to touch mine. His thumb and forefinger were gently pressed around my wrist. When I looked at him, he snapped out of his reverie and smiled at me with one of those smiles that feels as though it's been waiting for me.

Are you okay? He mouths, and I nod. He grimaces. For a moment, he freezes again, as though trying to remember where he put something. Then, he pulled back his hand slightly to wrap his fingers gently around the end of my pencil, and his other hand he laid gently over the edge of my dauntingly empty page.
Releasing my grip on the pencil, I pushed it towards him.

Do you need to go somewhere quiet? As he tilted the page slightly so I can read what he'd written, I noticed his writing was scrawled, and scruffier than normal; probably because he wrote quite fast.

I shook my head, taking another pencil from my bag. I've only been on a train like this a few times.

Before I'd finished writing, he was nodding. Tell me if you need anything. He gave me a meaningful yet gentle look, before gazing back out of the window. I felt his hand return to mine and my face felt hot. I could almost see him smiling to himself, but I may be making that up.

After this interaction, through a mix of his hand still touching mine, his gaze and his gentle, intimate smile, as well as the occasional playful kick at my ankles to check I was still there, I was content for the rest of the journey.

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Hey! I won't be able to get much done over the next few weeks, but I'll try to write when I can. To upload relatively regularly, my chapters may need to be quite short; sorry.