There's Blood On The Train Tracks

✦ O1

— ✦ Warnings: Depictions of bullying and physical assault.

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The sun hid itself behind the clouds; a thin mist covered the concrete and blurred the headlights of passing cars. The thick white stripes painted on the floor, which indicated the pedestrian path, were faded, but could still be seen. (Y/n) was grateful for that. The man looked at his left and right, numb hands stuffed inside the warm pockets of his coat. He raised his head, his breath leaving his mouth as white smoke.

The cold season could be insufferable for some, but for others it was bliss. (Y/n) belonged to the latter group. He bounced his wheel twice as he watched the street light at the end of the road and feebly chewed on his bottom lip. The bright red man looked like a red blur from the distance—the thought of getting his eyes checked crossed his mind. The red blur became green, and the cars stopped. (Y/n) straightened his back and crossed the road, turning to his left towards his usual shortcut. He could go the normal way, across a smooth concrete sidewalk, but that added a few minutes to his walk. The rocky path formed by beaten dirt and gravel amidst grass went near the train tracks and therefore took less time and effort, and the fresh air provided by the sparse trees was pleasant.

He raked his feet across the gravel, kicking loose rocks off the path. The next right would reveal a bus stop, a couple of tattered chairs—that held an unidentifiable smell—and a metal structure with an old poster that had half of it peeled off. When the sun burned everything below it and the heatwaves cooked everyone's brain and feet, there would be no choice but to sit in those suspiciously stained chairs. He was yet again grateful for the cold.

(Y/n) rubbed his wrist, reaching into his backpack to pull out his phone. The blue light shone against his face, and he squinted his eyes, lowering the brightness before properly accessing the time. It was still seven and forty-five in the morning. His eyes glazed over as he put the phone back in his pocket, closing the backpack with his right hand.

He mumbled an old song he heard recently, considering leaning his back against the nearby lightpost. The harsh light from the bus broke him out of his trance, rubber squeaking loudly against the pavement and the sound of gushing air following soon behind; he didn't know enough about cars to recognize what caused that to happen. The bus driver opened the door, allowing (Y/n) to get inside. He had a rictus smile as he looked back at the 12 passengers in the back through the rearview mirror.

(Y/n) rested his head against the window and closed his eyes.

There was another bus stop before he could finally reach his destination. He always found the difference in their current state to be appalling. While the other one was run down and worn out by time, weather, and usage, the other, although old, was well maintained, and each time something broke it would take but a week to be repaired—such were the perks of being used by more people and being close to a bustling part of town. His college was only a five-minute walk from there, with no need to cross any roads.

The building was imposing and quaint, its cream-coloured walls covered in ivy and begonias, and the windows had mahogany frames that added more to its classical style. The public college was still empty in the morning, save for the few employees cleaning here and there. (Y/n) was well acquainted with them, even knowing some by name. They were similar in a few ways, always fading in the background and seldom being noticed by most people, and once acknowledged, they would only be spared a few seconds on someone's mind every once in a while.

(Y/n) sighed, as he often did on the days he had classes, and gazed upwards at the fourth floor—today he was not quite in a "climbing dozens of stairs" mood. Shaking his head free from useless protests, he began the final steps of his daily journey. The stairs were always annoying to use—he did, in fact, hate them—but not only was the occasional exercise welcome in his otherwise sedentary lifestyle (with such a hectic schedule, there was little time for that) but if he were earlier than most, he wouldn't be pushed upwards by a horde of frantic students.

The quiet, brisk climb and the cool breeze that passed him soothed his senses significantly, yet another good quality to using the stairs in the early morning. Y closed his eyes, letting the wind pass by his face and relishing in the refreshing cold morning. An eerie chill stung the back of his neck, hairs rising ever so slightly at the sudden shift in the atmosphere. (Y/n) stopped in his tracks, left hand hovering over the wood handrail. His eyes opened, and he pressed his lips in a thin line, trying to see what was happening through the corner of his eye—whipping his head around would only alert whatever was happening behind him that maybe it was time to leave.

He could see a tall blur, a person. If he wanted a proper look, he would have to turn his head around. They must know by now that I noticed them. (Y/n) placed his hand on the handrail, turning to look at whoever was watching him.

At the end of the stairs stood a man. He fiddled with his fingers awkwardly, seemingly nervous at seeing someone else, and looked up at (Y/n). His purple eyes stared straight at him, exuding confidence despite the way his entire body seemed to betray that. The man was tall and had a rather scrawny figure, it didn't help that he was hunched over and hung his head low, light brown medium-length hair falling in front of his face.

(Y/n) tilted his head as he took in his appearance. The white surgical mask covering the lower half of his face added yet more reason to convey the image of a shy and insecure person regarding this man. His eyes looked out of place; they made it seem like this was only a facade of sorts.

He didn't get the time to access his true nature as the man quickly mumbled something under his breath, the mask only muffling the sound further beyond understanding, and left towards his destination.

Huh. (Y/n) mused, shrugging his shoulders—to himself, there was no longer anyone there—and starting his ascent once again. The interaction cut some of his time short, but, oddly enough, he wasn't particularly irritated by it. That was new. He furrowed his brows as he went towards the first class of the day.

The sun was high on the horizon when (Y/n)'s classes for the day ended, taking away the fog and brightening up the town, yet not fully able to overcome the cold of winter. The halls were now filled with drowned-out voices, some, ceaseless chatter, others, booming voices of professors, chipping away the student's sanity with the most boring lectures anyone could ever wish for in the high noon. The few who were free from any classes all piled up in the line that led to the dining hall, sighs and meek footsteps echoing in a much quieter way than the loud noises from the classrooms.

In normal days, which consisted of almost every day in his life, (Y/n) would be in that line. Today wasn't a normal day.

Swinging his weight from one foot to another, he craned his neck further into the hall, angling his ear towards the strange sounds from the patio. A sequence of laughs and groans came from there. He could only make out a few words.

"Freak! God, your face is so fucking disgusting."

Curiosity seeped into the man, who, adjusting his backpack straps, started to make his way towards the source of all this racket. He walked over in long strides, bent forward to see the mess before his feet could take him there. The cold morning and the curiosity made his stomach jittery, and with each footstep, it only got worse.

Three people were standing on the patio, all laughing while circling a person lying on the floor. They kicked his stomach as insults left their mouths—not good ones, but insults nonetheless. It was a pitiful display that looked out of place; more so, it belonged to a tacky high school movie. (Y/n) didn't know what to make of it. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brows, approaching them with crossed arms.

"Just what the fuck are you guys doing?"

Their heads snapped back, eyes wide at being caught. The blond one in the middle coughed in his hand, averting his eyes and nudging the victim with his shoe. "We were talking with a friend. It's none of your business."

"Uh huh." He nodded, unimpressed with the shameless answer. "Makes so much sense." (Y/n) crouched near the man on the floor, resting his elbows on his bent knees.

The man was doubled over, ostensibly in pain; his breathing was shallow and erratic. He trembled on the floor, light brown hair spread out and hands desperately pressed against the lower half of his face. As (Y/n) inched his head closer, he saw purple eyes staring straight at him, violet piercing through the pathetic display.