There's Blood On The Train Tracks

✦ O3

— ✦ Warnings: Suggested stalking, no other content warnings for this chapter.

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The morning chill had dissipated when (Y/n) finally reached his workplace. He was late, the unusual encounter taking longer than he had expected, but whilst he wasn't thrilled at it, he wasn't angry either. Indifferent—that's how he felt as he rushed away from the school. His legs ached from running, but the relief dulled down his exhaustion. He huffed, hands resting on his knees and back slightly curved forward as he caught his breath; after his breathing was back to normal, he entered the hardware store.

Fluorescent lights in symmetrical rows on the ceiling brightened the room in an artificial manner that grossly contrasted with the ambient light outside; the shelves of tools and other items reflected the light and gave an eerie superficial glow that hurt the eyes. The (h/c) supposed that the placement had been on purpose, maybe to highlight the appliances and encourage purchases, but he doubted that worked. The place was relatively big; it took a while to see all that was on display, and the checkout counter was conveniently close to the entrance, adding to what would be a pleasant shopping experience if it wasn't for the extreme luminosity assaulting your eyes.

As he approached the staff room, he passed by the checkout counter, wherein sat a woman with long black hair draped over her shoulder, her acorn-coloured dark skin reflected the light from the ceiling, and her silver earrings and bracelets shined and rattled against each other. She raised her eyes at (Y/n), a playful smile on her lips.

"You're late. See a stray somewhere?" Anya’s mellifluous voice rang out as she pocketed her cell phone. "You're lucky it's a slow day today."

"A stray?" He mused. "Huh, something like that. How many are on duty today?"

"The new stock only comes Thursday, so there isn't much to do." She rested her chin in her hand, raising an eyebrow at the cryptic answer. "Today it's only me and Bowen in the store, and those two are on warehouse duty with you. Though I might have to call you for help when closing up."

(Y/n) nodded, going into the staff room to change into his uniform. The red vest was light and not exactly an eyesore like the uniforms of the other stores. He supposed the lack of clothing restrictions would always be a positive aspect of the job, as it entailed not having to wear something ugly and uncomfortable during work. After getting dressed, he went straight to the warehouse through a door hidden by a cabinet; it would only be a waste of time to open the door in the store if there was another one inside the staff room, even if the door in question was not supposed to be used for some reason.

As soon as he came out, he could hear familiar laughter. At the far end of the stack of boxes on his right, Everett and Matthew waved at him. He knew they were laughing at his insistence on using the prohibited door, and that brought a bashful smile to his lips.

"Man, you're quiet when you want to be, but you also have no respect for any of the rules." Everett jabbed, shoving a tower of empty boxes at (Y/n)’s hands.

"Not my fault, it's a dumb rule." He shrugged his shoulders with a rictus smile, focussing on the tiresome task ahead.

The work entailed moving boxes inside the warehouse and restocking the store shelves whenever needed. It wasn't strenuous, but sometimes there would be a need to use sharp objects to open and dismantle the boxes, which meant that being prone to accidents would make this experience horrible for both employer and employee. That wasn't the case for the (h/c), but each time he had to tear apart a particularly sturdy box, he could understand how easy it was to get injured if you were not careful.

The sun started to set when he finally finished disposing of the old boxes thrown around the place and putting the remaining tools in the warehouse on the store shelves. He passed by Everett and Matthew, ignoring how the former rolled his eyes when he gripped the metal handle of the so-called forbidden door and pushed the cabinet back in front of the door after he left.

(Y/n) couldn't say he liked working overtime, but given his lateness and the lack of staff, he didn't have a choice today. Closing up had always been long and arduous, and for some reason, Mr. Baumann refused to hire more people even as the store grew in size. The (h/c) huffed in discontentment; the bus closer to the city did pass at late hours, yet the one that took him closer to home did not, which meant that going home would now be a 10-minute bus ride and a 35-minute walk. Fucking hell, he thought.

Leaves littered the gravel and crunched under his feet with each step he took as he walked with haste, his hands were burrowed deep into his pocket, and his lips furrowed in contempt. The cold had become unbearable as night settled in, and while he preferred it over hot weather, it still wasn't nice to walk at night whilst freezing.

He could visualise in his head a scene from a movie: a white man—he doesn't remember the actor's name—with red cheeks and frost all over his face while he trembles and forces himself to push forward in the snow. Granted, that's an extreme exaggeration of his current situation, but the thought brings a smile to his lips and helps ease his humour.

He raises his arms at his side and jumps on top of the train tracks, trying to walk on the rails without losing his balance. There's a faint sound of crickets from beneath the trees, and darkness takes over the sky as the light posts become scarce. (Y/n) jumps off the tracks and returns to his path, walking at a leisurely pace, slower than the one he had used before.

He can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket, the muted ringtone breaking through the silence. I should put it on silent mode later, he reminded himself.

His smile grew as he stepped on a particularly noisy leaf, the crunch echoing in the cold silence. (Y/n) contentment only lasted for a short while, as the sound of another leaf crunching echoed in the night, but this time it didn't come from underneath him—the sound came from a few steps behind him.

The cold chill he had felt at the stairs in the morning was back at his nape and hands, which became somehow even colder than before. He clenched his hands, which were still inside his pockets, into fists and kept walking. That only seemed to make whatever was behind him bolder, and the sound of the leaves kept happening as if being spotted no longer mattered. (Y/n) considered slowing down and letting it pass him, but the fear that petrified his core irrationally screamed at him to run.

When life presents you with two choices and one of the outcomes includes possibly—maybe—dying, you often choose the other one. And at that moment he decided that he would rather look stupid and laugh at himself later than have his body found the next morning.

His feet ached as he bolted towards his house; it was still a good 30 minutes away, but maybe he could hide out for a while at the nearby convenience store. The reason this was happening was kept as a forethought at the back of his brain; the urgency to get away was bigger than the need to know what was behind him.

The sounds grew louder, footsteps slowly escalating in noise and speed until they matched his fast erratic pattern as they turned the corner of the street. There was now a faint sound of someone's breath coming out in a rhythmic puff, except it didn't seem to be because of overexertion but rather excitement. It was like being followed by a fucking pervert; scratch that, (Y/n) realised, he was indeed being followed by a fucking pervert.

He could feel the unbearable knots of despair unravelling and letting relief seep through as the streetlights came into view, the ability to see igniting a spark of hope in this horrifying situation. His lungs started to burn, and curiosity nagged at him to look behind and see what was there; he couldn't; it would only slow him down and let the person catch up to him. So he kept running.

One foot in front of the other, hands swinging along with them and wind blowing his hair back. There was already a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his eyes burnt while holding back the tears that threatened to fall out. The sounds became thunderous, and the distance between him and whatever that was became smaller and smaller. Then smaller.