Chapter Text
Choso didn’t normally look around at the other passengers on the train. He preferred to keep his head down and lament his upcoming shift (if he was on the way to his part time job) or debate what to cook for the kids in the morning (if he was on the way back). This was one of the former situations, the less pleasant of the two.
Choso worked at a small bar in the heart of downtown. Being in the area that it was, one would expect a crowd of people to show up every night. Alas, this lowly bar usually only saw a handful of regulars that Choso quickly became familiar with as he reached the almost one month point of working there. The seemingly neverending selection of similar establishments nearby could be the reason for their scarcity of customers, but Choso would argue there was a larger factor at play.
In short, Choso’s boss was a dickhead. Sukuna managed the bar, did the paperwork, (sometimes) paid Choso on time, but what he excelled at was berating his employees. Any small mishap or accident, anything that strayed from perfection, Sukuna would notice. And when Sukuna noticed, he made damn sure every soul in a fifteen meter radius noticed, too. Choso was used to being insulted for mop streaks on the floor, yelled at for not pouring a drink fast enough, chewed out if his uniform was even slightly crooked.
The constant thunder of Sukuna’s voice shook the glasses on the bartop, and Choso was baffled that any of the people he served would ever want to return after losing half their hearing lifespan in one night. Choso theorized that the few old-timers who stuck around only did so because they’d already lost enough of their hearing to make Sukuna’s roars manageable.
Choso often wondered on these train rides why he hadn’t quit yet. But in the same thought, he would remind himself it was the closest night job he could find. A constant stream of income was something Choso couldn’t be too picky about, what with having a full house to provide for. And maybe because Sukuna was his uncle, but that fact often escaped both of them.
In summary, he had enough people to fuss over at work (one person, really), enough taxing socialization in those few hours covered him for the rest of his night. Oftentimes, Choso wished he was the only occupant on that train, it would be the one and only time he would be allowed a spare moment just for himself. He didn’t need accidental eye contact to lead to a conversation that he was too tired to uphold but too confrontation averse to end.
Choso sighed from where his back leant against one of the train’s doors. Not many people were even awake to be riding this late at night, still, somehow every seat was taken. Either late night office workers falling asleep from hours of overtime or kids hopping around the city were settled comfortably in the train seats.
Not sure what had come over himself, Choso peeled his eyes from the floor to cast a glance to the opposite wall of the train. There was a small pair of windows on the doors opposite to him that gave way to a passable view at around this point of the train ride. Not often, maybe once a week, he would look up to watch the city skate past him, the lights still blinding even in the late hours of the night. It served as enough motivation to keep working for his little brothers, to make enough money to send them farther in life so they could see the beautiful glow of the city in a new light. One that wasn’t full of disdain like it was for Choso.
Today, however, those regretful high-rises were not what caught his eye. Rather, there was something in front of the windows that stopped Choso’s gaze from ever reaching them.
His eyes landed on a man in a fresh black suit, his hand placed in the pocket of his pants while he leaned the side of his body against the rightmost door, looking out the window like Choso had planned to do a moment earlier. Choso didn’t often look around, his initial assessment of the lack of seating being the only time he chose to look at the other people sharing the train. So he couldn’t say if the person he was seeing now was a regular or not, just that Choso would be disappointed if this was the last time he saw him. Due to the angle, Choso could only see the man’s profile, but what a profile it was.
Wisps of hair fell down over his forehead, looking both carefully styled and casually effortless. His jaw was strong but not obnoxiously so. The man held a sadness in his eyes that Choso would normally empathize with, but the look only served to turn him on far more than was acceptable. He blamed the long hours of work for his depraved psyche.
But nothing compared to the man’s starring feature: his nose. Big enough to compliment the rest of his features perfectly, yet not too big that it dominated his face completely. Choso tried not to make a habit of imagining himself riding stranger’s faces, but again, depraved psyche.
There was only so much he could see since the man was almost fully turned away from him, so Choso resorted to ogling the man’s face in the reflection of the window. He wasn’t given much time to do so, though, as only a moment later the man locked eyes with him through the reflection. The eye contact would usually be enough to make Choso look away and act as disinterested as possible, but he felt something akin to a magnetic pull, and it wouldn’t let his eyes falter.
The attention was suffocating. The man’s eyes on him made Choso heat up in a way he’d never felt before, like he’d been caught doing something he was forbidden from.
Slowly, against all of Choso’s pleas, the man turned his head away from the window, never breaking eye contact. Eventually, he was facing Choso for real, now with no reflection to minimize the intensity of his gaze. Staring straight into those melancholic eyes was enough to send a shiver through Choso. He didn’t feel like he was being looked at as much as he was being looked through. Like the man was seeing the most vulnerable parts of Choso, out in the open on this train.
Choso saw the man’s eyebrows raise up in question. What are you looking at? Or maybe, What’s your problem, creep? Whatever the other was thinking, Choso had no way to know. Worse yet, he still wasn’t able to take his eyes off the other. If he kept staring for any longer he really would look like a creep, or, worst case scenario, it might give the man enough reason to come over and punch him out.
By some divine luck, the train’s speakers suddenly went off, alerting the passengers they were arriving at the next stop. The shock was enough to make Choso jump, momentarily pulling him out of the exchange as he remembered where he was. He was able to catch the last few words of the automated voice and recognized that this was his stop.
Thank fucking god, he thought to himself as he pushed himself off the doors to whip himself around, back now toward the stranger. Inches from his face, the doors opened painfully slow, as if they were sliding through a pool of molasses. Choso thought he felt the other’s eyes on his back as he stepped down on the platform, taking hurried steps against the cool tile. But he summed it up to the potent mix of arousal and shame that still coursed through him.
Stepping into the cool night air, Choso breathed his first unlabored breath since seeing the stranger. After that thrilling experience, part of him wished that would be the last time he encountered the other, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate a good view on the way to work that wasn't his shitty city. It’s not worth it if it gets him worked up beyond reason, though.
Groaning, he slapped both hands over his face. He was acting like a middle schooler with his first crush and he needed to get over himself. It’s not like Choso wanted to initiate anything with the other, so why was he acting so embarrassing right now?
Heaving one final deep breath, he marched his way to the bar, steeling himself for the whole different kind of suffocating that accompanied Sukuna’s existence. The last thing he needed to start this night was Sukuna berating him for being only twenty-eight minutes early instead of his preferred thirty.