Ruby didn’t take the subway often. In fact, she tried not to. Ever since you.

She’d met you on the subway.

Then you got away.

You’d dated for two weeks, then you disappeared. Ruby knew you had some problems with your family and toxic relationships and bad habits and even sexual assault, and she was worried about you. You were gone. No one had seen you in ages.

Six months later, she, selfishly, hated that she still cared. She couldn’t get hurt by someone. But she would gladly get hurt by you, a million times over. And she hated that.

As Ruby stepped onto the train, she was overwhelmed wear the scent of the perfume you used to where. It almost made her want to get right off. The black cherry filled her nose and she wanted to cry. Why was your perfume there?

She just wanted you to be another girl on the subway.

She sat down on the first seat she could see, her knees weak. Why did you affect her so much?

Then she looks up. And her eyes land on the girl sitting across from her. Oh my god, she’d never thought she’d see that face again.

Your hair. Your eyes. Your beat-up Doc Martens. Your half-healed scars that went up your arms. You looked fine. Well, even.

It was, unmistakably, you.

She lets out a choked noise. Which makes you look up.