Subway
It took you seven minutes to realize Sebastian was behind you on the subway.
You don’t normally take the train. It was just one of those days when Marlene needed you to personally speak to a couple of people.
Owning a car in New York is not much of a norm. When you’re a multi-millionaire, sure, but as a regular citizen, it’s not really necessary to own a car in the city. Every street is pretty much covered in people walking and cars honking. It was much more convenient to walk, take a subway or hail a cab.
When going to work, you usually just walk since it was only around seven blocks away. Sure, it was exhausting, but it saved a few dollars. And you weren’t famous or anything, you didn’t need to look fabulous every second you’re out of your apartment.
The subway wasn’t one of your favorite places in New York. The streets were crowded and noisy, almost like the subway, but you preferred it rather than the latter. The train station seemed like it was noisier, busier, more crowded, entirely different.
People would expect you to be used to it because you’ve been living here for almost six years, but somehow you just haven’t been fond of the subway.
Keeping your purse and files close to your body, you stood in the middle of the crowd as you waited for the next train to stop. You tried your best not to look at anyone or start an unnecessary anxiety attack. You were so sure you were unnoticed, but then the universe had better plans.
“Subway, huh?” he said, startling you.
“God,” you sighed, turning around to face him. “Don’t do that again.”
“Sorry,” he apologized. “Hi, (Y/N).”
“Like that would calm me down,” you joked. “And no, I don’t like subways. I had no choice. Taxis are expensive as hell.”
“What brings you here then?” he asked, tilting his head. You took a second to look at him. He wore a plain navy blue shirt, black jeans, and a pair of black shoes while he held a black jacket on his left hand and his phone on the other.
“Uh,” you cleared your throat and shrugged your arms a bit to show him the folders you were holding. “Work stuff. Had to be done personally on the other side of New York.”
“I see,” he said. “You’re heading back to town.”
You nodded. “Yeah, going back home. My boss allowed me to go home early as long as I get all my work stuff done.”
“So,” he started. “Work stuff, huh? Vague.”
You let out a laugh. “I’m an executive assistant. Well, just an assistant, I just add executive to make myself seem very smart. But I swear to God, it really says executive assistant on my identification card.
He laughed, shifting his position a bit so it looked like he was leaning on you. “I believe you, Ms. Executive Assistant.”
You were about to respond when the train made a stop, making everyone else around the two of you start scurrying towards the vehicle. Stumbling backwards, you tried your best to keep yourself standing. Sebastian immediately held your arms, that are still tightly wrapped around your things, and pulled you close to him.
“Careful,” he mumbled. “Let’s go.”
You didn’t even have the time to nod; he was already holding you close and leading you towards the train’s doors.
Speechless, you followed him and took a seat you both managed to snatch from other people.
“You know I live near the café we met,” he mumbled beside you. You didn’t even try to look at him.
“Yeah?” you breathed out, calming yourself. The proximity between you was so close, his leg and arm touched yours. “Mine was just a couple of blocks.”
“Is it by any chance in Ridgewood Apartments?” he asked, shifting a little when a lady sat beside him.
You let out a small laugh and shook your head. “Oh, goodness, no. I would never afford an apartment there. I live with my dog, and she doesn’t take up much space, so a small studio gets us by.”
“Ridgewood is kind of cheap. They’ve renovated and stuff, but they’ve only raised around a couple of hundred bucks in he past seven years.”
“Do you own Ridgewood?” you asked. “You sound like you’re luring me to move out of my tiny apartment.”
He laughed and leaned a little when the train started to move. “I don’t, but I’ve lived there for seven years.”
This time, you looked at him. “Seven years? Are you serious? You’ve been living in Ridgewood for seven years, even after all the money you probably got from Captain America?”
He bit his lip to fight back a smile. You blushed.
“Uhh,” you said, looking away. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have asked that.”
“It’s alright,” he assured, just like I did when we first met. “And yeah, nothing’s wrong with it. I mean, uhm, there’s the occasional toilet problem, but the plumber lives in the basement so it takes around fifteen minutes to get it done. How long have you lived in your apartment?
“Well, this one, I’ve only lived there around six months,” you answered.
“Explains why I never saw you before we met last week,” he mumbled. “You just recently moved here?”
“No, no,” you answered. “Well, kind of. I lived in Manhattan for around four years, and then moved with my boyfriend here in the city like two years ago. But you know, stuff happens.”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized.
“Not your fault, Mr. Stan.”
He shook his head. “Please call me Sebastian. ‘Mr. Stan’ makes me uncomfortable.”
You nodded your head and focused on the small trash bin across you.
“You know,” he started again. God, was he talkative. “My girlfriend—well, ex—moved out of my apartment just around eight months ago as well."
“Welcome to the club,” you mumbled, making him laugh a little.
“Where do I sign up?” he asked.
“You’re in,” you joked. “No more interviews or résumés. Don’t tell anyone you know the president, though. They’ll tell me I’m biased for letting you in without an initiation.
He laughed even more.
“I kinda miss Manhattan, though,” you thought out loud. You blushed even more when you realized you were speaking again. You didn’t want to talk as much as possible, you just want to hear his voice and never respond.
“What do you miss about it?”
“The streets,” you answered. “It’s less crowded there. More space. More air.”
“You’ve been in New York City for around two years,” he remarked. “You should have fallen in love with it by your second day here.”
“I am,” you agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss Manhattan.”
“It’s easier to blend in here,” he said. “Easier to hide from the world. Easier to find your place.”
“It is,” you nodded.
“When was the last time you were in Manhattan?” he asked.
“May eleventh, this year,” you answered, a little too quickly. “A week after the shit storm my boyfriend did. I lived in my friend’s apartment for a couple of weeks until Marlene, my boss, finally called me and scolded me for being so pathetic.” You let out a laugh. “She just needed me to pick up her dry cleaning.”
He laughed with you. “What a shitty world, isn’t it?”
You shook your head. “Not really. Shit stuff happen, but the world is kind of pretty. Don’t be a pessimist, Sebastian.”
Silence lingered between you, even though the sound of the train and the people was noisy. His leg and arm still touched yours, and you couldn’t move.
Ninth of November, you noted.
On the ninth of November, you sat next to Sebastian Stan in the train.