#aerachr

there’s a flash of orange across the cracked led screen of the run down bus stop, strikingly bright against the dimly lit sky as the colours morph into ‘2:54AM - NO BUSES AVAILABLE’. he’s hit with déjà vu like the last few times he had found himself seated underneath the cracked wooden roof of the stop, completely useless when it’s raining and completely useless when it isn’t raining either, caught in ceaseless repetition of running from everything once a month only to be rescued by a princess in shining armour.

it’s a routine. one embedded into his system like something he had needed all along but hadn’t realised so until he met her, so unlike and like him all at once. he watches the familiar car pull up in front of him, pushes the hood of his jacket down and taps on the driver side window with his fingers.

“wow, what time do you call this?” he complains as soon as the window is rolled down, nose crinkled as though he’s actually perturbed by the late hours in which him and aera seem to find solace. hansol’s tempted to slide over the bonnet and into the car, but she already looks like she’s bursting with things to say (or hiss, more fittingly) and he doesn’t feel like putting his life on the line for a few seconds of amusement. he treks over to the other side of the vehicle, slipping into the passenger's seat with a scoff, words pointed like the knife of accusation. “you said 3am. you’re late, you liar. i could’ve been kidnapped. or worse, i could’ve had to take a bus.”