Crossing his long legs at his knees, he rifled through the contents of his newly acquired bag. High school textbooks, spiral notebooks, and crinkled worksheets made up for most of the belongings.
He zoned in on an open bag of potato chips, deciding that they smelled fresh enough to eat. He then split his time between opening the paisley patterned wallet he pulled out of the bag and munching on the free food he had acquired. It was a pretty disappointing find, though.
“Seriously? Not even a dollar?”
He frowned at identification card and the miserable looking girl photographed there. If she wasn’t pouting like that, she might have looked cute: a beauty mark on her right cheek, just beside her sad, brown eyes, and a round face.
He raised a brow at the ‘other’ listed beside her hair color designation. No way that gaudy pink was natural.
“Wonder why she jumped.”
The thought was whispered aloud; a passing quandary spoken as he continued to inspect the card in his hand. That was when a freezing sensation claimed the bare skin peeking through the tears in his worn clothing like a bucket of ice-cold water had been thrown right at him.
Something shifted in front of him. His eyes shot up to take in the absurd looking gentleman now miraculously standing there.
How could Fuchsia have possibly not seen him sooner? It was almost hard to look at the guy—and not just because the violet color of his button up shirt clashed with his knee length auburn hair.
“Jumped?” he said, cocking his head to the side, illuminating one side of his ghostly, structured face. His voice held a distorted flatness that matched his clouded eyes. “You give her too much credit. She did not jump.”
Fuchsia raised a brow, twisting around to look for anyone else that the man may have been addressing. He placed the wallet back into the stolen bookbag, pulling it closer to his side when the invaders blank gaze shifted towards it curiously.
Entirely distracted by the way the man slowly leaned forward, the brunet didn’t notice that the station had become quiet. He bristled, pressing his back into the bench, and glaring harshly. He absolutely hated people being in his space and he hated being touched unwarrantedly. His eye twitched as he spoke.
“Back off.”
The auburn-haired man tilted his head in the opposite direction. Although his facial features remained stagnant, his dry voice lulled lightly in amusement. “I require that bag and all of its contents.”
The brunet scoffed, but much to his dismay, the ghoul leaned closer. He extended an arm out to brace himself on the back of the metal bench, his tall, broad frame invasively folded towards the younger man tensing up beneath him. When he spoke again, it was hushed and unhurried.
“Are you challenging me?”
With that the brunet secured his grip on the bag in his hand. He wasn’t about to be intimidated by some random weirdo. “Look, I’m going to leave now, and you’re going to let me.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah.”
Fuchsia shifted on the bench. Aside from the set of white eyes following his movements, the man remained entirely motionless. He thought that was the end of it, that the phantom had lost his nerve, but he was wrong. Just as he rose to a stand, the station went silent and he went blind. He froze.
The spike in his heart rate was drumming in his ears as he strained to hear anything else. His pale eyes darted around to see nothing except the all-consuming darkness surrounding him.
What the fuck had just happened?
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