Chapter Text
Every twenty minutes. Like clockwork.
Years ago, when he’d started doing this, the only thing that bothered him about this place was the fact that it was on odd times and that apparently, at some point in the night, the trains stopped running for up to two hours and started back up at seemingly random times, making the timing different every day. He had yet to stay out until the trains stopped running, and had no idea when that point was, leaving him to only guess that it was in the late hours of the dead of night.
He supposed that would’ve usually made it interesting for anyone else. For him, it just caused a spark of mild irritation at the beginning of every session here, when he spent the next ten or so minutes trying to figure out the train schedule before actually settling down to do whatever it was he set out here to do.
Nevertheless, despite the ever-changing, yet somehow constant train schedule, the noise of the trains blowing past the wooden station was calming. He always knew when to expect it after he’d figured out that initial schedule and it was always right on time. He’d check his phone and wait until he heard the whistle blowing and then the noise of the freight cars clacking against the tracks, quickly blowing past him and onwards into the empty country, rushing to the nearest city. Only six times a day did the train actually stop, twice in the morning, twice in the afternoon, and twice at night. Those were the only times that people entered or left this place by track. In fact, it was the only time people really left in general. The train was the cheapest and most accessible way to the nearest cities, given that most people here didn’t drive or have cars.
Like clockwork, he picked up his phone again, setting down the pencil he’d been working with and checking the time. Five minutes until the train would come blowing through again. This one would probably hold passengers, he knew. Those who were lucky enough to work in the city would stumble off and make their way down the streets of the back to their houses.
Leaning forward, Aizawa Shouta peered over the edge of the tracks and into the distance, the tracks disappearing over the horizon. The station was on the outskirts of the town and beyond that, there was nothing but farmland and fields. He could see unobstructed as far as his eyes would let him, not even a tree blocking his vision. The train hadn’t yet come into his field of vision, but he knew it would soon enough. After all, he could always expect it. Every twenty minutes. Like clockwork.
With a sigh, he sat back and tried to turn his attention back to his notes, written in neat lines down the page, and he glanced beside him at the arithmetic book. His head throbbed in response, threatening him as he looked over his notes, trying to decide again if they were neat enough to keep, or to redo them again. It was a lot of work, but it’d be worth it in the end. He’d have to look at these notes for the next few months. He had to make sure he could actually read them and that others could, as well. They had to be the best they could be. Everything in his academic life had to be. Otherwise—
No. There was no otherwise. There was no alternative.
Instead, Shouta turned his gaze to the sky, the canvas painted with glowing oranges and pinks, signifying a lingering sunset. Soon enough, it’d be time to go home. Home to his mother and brother and home to his street and home to his dark room with the rest of his messed up notes. And then, like clockwork, in a week, school would be starting. He’d go through the year and then—then he’d be out. An hour until curfew. A week until school. Nine hours of school, six days a week, for nine months. No after-school activities or sports. Just those numbers. If it was a number, Shouta could deal with it. Otherwise, it was just a big, vague ‘what-if’ floating in front of him. This made it tangible.
Just a few more months, and then he could go. He’d leave, take the train to somewhere far away and never come back, never return to this dead, cold town. He let his eyes slip shut, resting his head back on the wood of the train station’s building.
This place was old, the station looking as though it’d been built as soon as trains became a thing. It was wooden and run down and people hardly ever came here, mostly because people hardly ever left this place and the few who did didn’t linger at the station. No one did. Which was why it was perfect to sit here, to sit on the wooden bench on the platform and meticulously write his notes and think and count. This was the place he came to whenever he could. The clockwork calmed him. Knowing he could expect something every twenty minutes almost on the dot calmed him. He liked schedules. He liked patterns. And all he wanted was something he could expect, something that wasn’t a complete surprise. He could handle this. It was here that Shouta felt the most at peace, and it was here that he knew he could make it these last nine months. Here, he could envision something else and someday, he’d get on the train here with what little things he had and board the train and never, ever come back.
The rumbling in the distance was what brought Shouta’s attention back to where, exactly, he was. The wood of the platform underneath him began rattling and shaking and Shouta leaned forward again, peering past the station and down the horizon where the head of the train approached among the fields of crops flanking either side of the tracks, all of it bathed in a warm orange light, the setting sun reflecting off of the shiny metal of the engine. Shouta put down his pencil on his notes and leaned further forward watching the train roar to the station, the noise of its whistle cutting through the previously quiet air.
It was time for one of the cars transporting passengers and Shouta waited anxiously for it, tapping his foot on the wooden floor of the platform, his eyes following it, the rattling underneath him getting stronger and stronger until Shouta was sure that the platform was about to actually give out from under him. He held his breath and the large engine approached, pulling passenger cars behind it, the noise becoming deafening as it slowed to a screeching stop, groaning and huffing the whole way.
“Pl… Stay… Of Platform,” The overhead automated announcement came crackling over the speakers, broken and cutting in and out due to the age of the recording, the systems, and the speakers. He’d heard it a million times before, it felt like, and his heart beat hard in his chest as the train came to a full stop. There was a pause and the train let out air as the door slid open.
There weren’t a lot of people—there never was—but there was enough. People stepped off the train, Shouta recognizing nearly every one of them. None of them gave him a second glance and as expected, most actively avoided his gaze, walking around him with their heads pointedly turned away. The hurt had long since left Shouta and he found himself not caring anymore, simply watching as he always did, watching each and every person with his dark eyes, his gaze following the more interesting ones as they stepped off the train. Most were dressed formally, and it was easy to logically deduce that they were coming home from a long day at work. A couple of them stumbled off the train and over their own feet, barely staying upright in a state of drunkenness. It was nothing new. He’d seen it all before and yet—it still interested him, this people watching, even if he knew the first and last names of the majority of people who made their way across the train station and pushed their way out the door and down the steps to the road that would take them to the small town.
He watched as the train car emptied, and the feeling of it being almost curfew snuck up on Shouta, taking root at his spine and causing a certain uneasiness in his stomach, pushing and urging him to start making his way back home, home to the place where he couldn’t expect anything, and where he’d have to leave this place of routine. The feeling made him sick, causing a tightness in his chest that he tried hard to swallow down to force it to go far, far away.
He continued watching, and then, as everyone he knew emptied out of the train’s cars, leaving only the people waiting for the next stop, he saw them.
Or more, him.
There was no moment of normalcy or moment of Shouta questioning whether or not he’d ever seen this person before. He knew he hadn’t. He knew that the second he laid eyes on him and the two woman he was walking behind, pulling what looked to be suitcase. He’d never seen any of the three ever before, and he knew that the instant they got off the train. They were so completely out of place, and they did not belong whatsoever. It was the kid who caught his eyes, though, the one who definitely wasn’t an adult and who… almost looked like he was the same age as Shouta.
If Shouta had ever seen anybody who looked like they belonged in the city, it would be him. Him. He stepped off the train in a leather jacket with spikes and chains and buttons, long, nearly platinum-blonde hair pulled back into a bun and falling down his back, a few pieces draping down his shoulders. His grin was wide and his eyes were shrouded by a pair of purple sunglasses, his body tall and thin and looking like he belonged nowhere near this tiny town. He followed the women, the two of them looking slightly more belonging, but neither of them looking quite like him. The two women conversed between them and Shouta had no idea whether or not they were related to the boy who followed them.
Shouta stared, his mouth set in a hard line, his dark eyes wide as he stared at the person he could only assume was a teenager. He studied him, trying to figure out where he’d come from and why he was here, in this little town full of nothing. What could this place possibly have for someone who was so obviously a city-kid?
And then, without any sort of warning, the kid turned to him, turned his head to look at him, throwing a piece of long blonde hair over his shoulder, his gloved fingers on his sunglasses, pulling them slightly down his nose so that he could look at Shouta over them, giving him a good look at his bright green eyes and the trimmed facial hair under his nose.
He grinned. He grinned wider than Shouta had thought possible, showing all his teeth as he looked at him over those dark sunglasses of his. He didn’t laugh, didn’t say anything, and didn’t even startle like Shouta did as the train blew its whistle again and began rattling off. He just grinned at him, and the expression was unlike anything Shouta had ever seen in his entire life. He just stared back, not smiling or waving or even saying anything, just watching with his notes sprawled over his lap, as the boy tossed his hair again and turned to look straight ahead, that same huge smile on his face as he picked up the pace to join the two older women ahead of him, still saying nothing as the three of them pushed through the doors of the train station.
The train blew off into the distance, wind rushing at Shouta and rustling his pages of meticulously written notes, and he suddenly snapped back to reality, clutching his notes hard so his hours of work wouldn’t be blown away by the leaving train. He watched, wordless and thoughtless, as the train disappeared over the horizon, seemingly steaming into the bright yellow setting sun as the light bled into everything in sight, turning it pink and orange as night approached at a fast pace.
Almost automatically, Shouta began packing up his things, pushing them into the small bag he’d brought with him. He slung the bag over his shoulder and stood, mechanically making his way to the station’s doors, opening them up and staring down the stairs. Before him, the street bathed in yellow and orange was empty, lined with rundown one-floor houses, either painted a grey color or a sickly yellow, some of them boarded up with planks and nails, all of them with lawns of various yellowing hues. The small town sprawled out before him, the town in a small valley, and from here, he could see everything from the main town area, with its pretentious shops and four-floor high rises to the outskirts of the tiny town and the way farmland faded into streets and more terribly-built houses. The train station was on a hill and whenever he climbed down these stairs, he was faced with the reality that he was reentering a place that hated him almost as much as he hated it.
Off in the distance, the town’s factory stood, black smoke billowing up into the air and spitting dark clouds into the sky, setting the scene for the rest of this miserable place.
He allowed himself a last lingering look at the town sprawling before him and he breathed a long exhale, beginning to climb down the many wooden steps that led up the station’s hill. The sun started dipping further and further down, bringing more and more darkness with it as it went, and Shouta only spared a quick glance at the station’s sign as he reached the bottom, before starting off down the road that would eventually take him to his house, his old, ratty tennis shoes making the only echoing noise in the neighborhood as he made his way down the street, leaving behind the station and the accompanying sign that stood before it.
Now leaving Yuugen Station
“Hello?”
He called it out as soon as he unlatched the door and stepped inside. The house was dark and a mess, as always, and it caused Shouta’s skin to crawl the longer he looked at it. Bills and mail were piled up on the table, on the dirty counters, on shelves lined with various unneeded things. The curtains that remained in the windows were ripped and torn and full of holes. The couch was further littered with mail and other papers and boxes of unopened things. Dim light from the settling in twilight rested over the first floor of the house, in the small kitchen and in the living room beside it. The small television set was flickering on, interspersed with static and barely getting a signal, and as Shouta’s eyes drifted across the room, they came to rest on a figure standing in the archway between the living room and the kitchen.
“You’re late, Aizawa,” Her voice was a hiss from between her teeth, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t react. He’d long learned not to. He only glanced down at his phone, reading the time off of it,
He stared back at her, “I’m three minutes early.”
“Late!” She insisted, her voice raised in volume and echoing through the cluttered first floor of their house. It didn’t surprise him, even if she was unpredictable. She was unpredictable in a way that had forced Shouta to expect anything and nothing all at once. Nothing about her phased him anymore, he liked to think. He was long past that stage.
“Sorry,” It was easier to just go with what she said, rather than start a fight with her. He looked away and took a few steps into the kitchen, setting his bag down on the full kitchen table, his brain back in automatic mode as he made his way across the dirty floor to the sink, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater and unwrapping the perpetual scarf he had around his neck. He turned the sink on, immediately beginning scrubbing at the dishes piled in the sink, focusing on that task and only that, not saying anything as she hovered behind him, always there, always in his space. He kept his head down and focused on the task on hand, waiting for her to speak, for her to criticize.
“The new family moving in is strange,” Her words were spat and full of venom, and distantly, he was grateful that they weren’t really directed at him. It was always better when she temporarily had a new target, something else she could badmouth and fume over. It gave him some time.
“Where are they moving?” His voice was like his face—dead, emotionless, only put there to keep the conversation going. He could feel the familiar tension in the air, and he could almost cut it with the knife awaiting in the sink.
“Across the street. Two women and some punk kid your age. They don’t belong. None of them belong and they’re going to ruin my neighborhood.”
He hadn’t noticed them. He’d been too preoccupied with heading home and facing his mother to even notice what was different about the street.
The sound of the plate cracking nearly split Shouta’s ears as he dropped it in surprise. The surprise was quickly gone, though, replaced by a numbing dread the instant he realized what he’d done. The conversation was over the second he’d dropped the plate and silently, he cursed at himself for reacting, for showing any sort of emotion, for not thinking about this logically.
“Look what you’ve done!” She roared, her loud, gruff voice even more ear-splitting than the plate breaking, making Shouta feel like he could easily go deaf if he had to listen to it any longer. She didn’t stop for a second, continuing to shout and scream at him, her face red and her lips almost twitching upwards into a smile at the notion that he’d done something wrong. “You’re useless! Get out of here! Out! You can’t do anything right!”
“Yes, yes,” He muttered quietly, lunging for his schoobag on the chair. He took the steps in the staircase two at a time and turned a sharp right to his room, flinging the door open and stepping inside, locking it behind him. He flipped the light switch, flooding his room with white light, sighing as he looked over the room. Everything was meticulously placed, his bed neatly made, papers filed away in a cabinet in his desk and books neatly lined and ordered on shelves. Everything was perfect, and nothing was out of place and he let the relief wash over him as he slumped against the door, feeling the tiredness from insomnia pulling at him, beckoning him to lay down in his well-made bed and fight for sleep.
He didn’t, though.
Instead he crossed the room, pushing his curtains back, looking out the window in his bedroom, the one that overlooked the silent street. There, it stood, the house that had only ever been occupied twice in his entire life of living here, the house that he’d been sure would never sell, the house that could never keep its few occupants for more than a few months. It stood there, the lights on in the house, yellow flooding out from every window, the muffled sound of the moving truck running meeting Shouta’s ears.
And out on the deck of the house that had never held occupants for long sat the same blonde-haired, strange looking kid, looking at the two women who were helping unload the moving truck, smiling that same wide grin, not speaking, just smiling with life flowing from both him and that house. The same kid he’d seen getting off the train, the same kid who looked like he belonged in the city, the same kid who’d been the only one at the train station to give him a second glance—that kid was here. Here, with him. Here, occupying that forever-empty house across the street, defying all odds and norms, and Shouta could only stare at him, wide-eyed from the second floor of his own house.
He knew something was different in that moment, but he had no idea how much his life was about to change just because of that one person.
There was no way he could’ve known.