Between Footsteps| p.jm

FOUR| --- ..-. ..-. . .-.

You didn't go back to the show the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. Instead you kept quiet when 25 complained about going and kept your head low so the suggestion for you to go in his place wouldn't be made again. For whatever reason, where others saw the show and new arrival as entertainment, you only saw it as haunting. The whole experience had made you feel uneasy and nauseous.

Not to mention the fact that 62 would be there, and his friendly... (maybe flirty attempts?) would also follow suit. To be perfectly honest, you didn't dislike him. You had no reason too. He was just another dead guy, and all the traits of his you had been met with didn't bother you. He was gentle and kind and seemed soft-hearted. You didn't even mind the flirting tone, even though it confused you.

What you disliked about 62 was that you felt embarrassed in his presence. You didn't like the sympathy that resonated in his eyes and you didn't like thinking that the only reasoning behind his pestering was because you looked so... helpless. Sad even. You knew your situation wasn't good, but with no other choice you had accepted it for what it was and even became proud of you and the other dead eyed bronze workers.

There was something to be said in strength, and if you were working and suffering even in death, then there was no one stronger. However, under the eyes of 62, this strength and pride you felt always seemed to diminish. Clearly he was a high rank and seemed to be the pride and joy of everyone in the Between. You had overheard a lot of chatter about the "talented and handsome young dancer" gracing the stage some nights, and although you couldn't deny his skill, you also felt lower and lower upon hearing just how loved and highly placed this guy was.

Why had he even bothered looking your way, much less speaking to you? The high pedestal 62 was raised to meant that no matter who you were, he would be looking down on you. You were so low you were practically underground, yet for whatever reason his eyes always found you. It was haunting, confusing, and irritating.

Even more so when he seemed to find it humorous to pester you.

You figured that maybe not going to the show would make it pretty obvious you weren't interested in 62's presence, but somehow he hadn't taken the hint. After the show and your obvious unattendance, 62 showed up at the food truck. 

You had seen him coming from a mile away due to his flashy and very nice appearance. His hair was now dyed an even lighter shade of blond and he was wearing a nice black and white faded button down tucked into black ripped jeans. He also wore dress shoes and sported new earrings. He looked out of place in the area that usually only held guests and bronze workers and stuck out like a sore thumb. 

Thankfully his flashy appearance had given you a warning and just enough time to scamper to the back of the food truck after the initial shock of seeing him wore off. 

"Hey!" 25 spoke in irritation as he saw you cower, "Come on girl, stop messing around and batter the fried pickles."

"O-OK," you stammered while quickly obeying and doing your best to look busy as to not accidentally make eye contact with the handsome guy who was now patiently waiting in line among the other guests. They were all surprised to see the star and you heard them speak his number in excitement.

"Next!" 19 called gruffly; handing the guest the fried pickles and calling forward the next person in line. It was 62, and the moment he stepped forward 19's eyes widened in surprise. "62?" He questioned in shock for a moment before breaking into hearty laughter. "The new famous dancer?"

You noticed 62's face flush in embarrassment from the corner of your eye under the older man's mocking tone but you quickly looked away pointedly once more after catching sight of him.