Chapter Text
Liminality
Few things are more than ephemeral in the constant bustle of people and surroundings. Like most, he’s learned to keep to himself, not to put much stock into accidentally bumping into someone on the subway or in the midst of a crowd. Even the kindest face is just another one of the many.
His position on the train leaves him uncomfortably squished between several people, pressed between someone who smells of smoke and another who seems jittery. He snakes a hand for the top of a pole in the of the cabin, using it to keep himself upright every time the train lurches to a halt. A part of him is grateful the hour-long trip gives him time to simmer in the sour mood he’s been in since work. Two stops from his own, his temper has begun to fade, and the crowd thins enough that he finds a more comfortable spot by the door.
The hydraulics hiss to a stop, and the majority of the car departs, leaving him to wait as a few people join him in the cabin. He taps his foot to the rhythm of the song blasting through his headphones, waiting for the door to close once again.
In his periphery, he spots a blur of green against the subway’s gray and blue, a frantic person running for the doors before they close. Some part of him, not furious from the day, sticks his arm through the doors, holding the space open as the person dashes through, gasping for breath.
They stare up at him with golden eyes behind a pair of glasses and a crooked yet blinding grin. Their mouth forms words, but he can’t hear them through the heavy bass and guitar riffs. Still, that music fades into something sweet as he loses himself for a moment. With a tug, the green hood is pulled down, revealing brown locks that frame a beautiful face. The honeyed eyes capture the entirety of his attention as the world seems to fade, everything moving like sweetly slow molasses.
Lowering his headphones, he’s finally tethered back to reality.
“Thank you,” she says, voice rough with exhaustion, “Thought I’d end up stuck.”
“No problem,” he replies. “I don’t remember seeing you on the train before,” he says. Not that he pays much attention to other people, but he would remember her.
“I like to keep people on their toes.”
“I’m Keith,” he offers, extending a hand.
“Pidge.”
When their hands meet, there’s something there. Not the electricity some of his friends have told him about. It’s a warmth that blooms in his chest, a feeling of something fitting together like a puzzle piece. There’s a stillness there, amidst the chaos.
It isn’t love, not quite yet.
But it’s something.