The bus stop was quieter than the streets John had just escaped.

It had been a long, exhausting day. The fluorescent lights in the shop had drilled into his skull, people had stared like they always did, and he had felt the familiar burn of judgment crawl over his skin. He was used to it. He had learned to be. He knew he was different. He had made peace with that years ago. Other people hadn’t.

Still, he walked with his head high, plastic bag rustling at his side, boots scuffing against the pavement as he reached the bench. He dropped down with a tired sigh, running a hand through his hair.

Only then did he notice the young man sitting at the other end.

Dark sunglasses. A long cane resting loosely in his hands. His posture careful, composed — like someone mapping the world through sound instead of sight.

John glanced once, then looked away. He didn’t think much of it. Not until his brain betrayed him.

It started with a sharp jerk of his shoulder. Then another. His neck snapped slightly to the side as a tic forced its way out.

“—Tch! Bloody— ah— shite—!” His leg bounced violently against the ground. The bench shook.

Another twitch. A sharp inhale. “Shut up— shut up— not you—!”

The words burst out louder than he meant them to, voice thick with the Scottish edge he could never hide. His hand slapped against his thigh as another tic rippled through him.

The bench rattled again.And that was when he heard it.

A sharp intake of breath from beside him. The younger man startled-body going rigid, fingers tightening around his cane. The sudden vibration, the unexpected shouting… he hadn’t seen it coming.

Because he couldn’t.The realization hit John a split second later.

He froze mid-twitch. “Oh— oh, hell. No— no, I—” His jaw jerked again, but he forced himself to ground. Pressed his boots harder into the pavement. Dug his nails into his palm. Breathed through it.

He turned fully toward the young man now, properly looking at him. At the cane. At the unfocused direction of his gaze behind the glasses.

And guilt flooded him. “Hey- hey, lad,” John said, voice softer now, rough but careful. “I’m- I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare ye.”

His shoulder twitched again, smaller this time.

“I’ve got Tourette’s. Sometimes it just-” He snapped his fingers involuntarily near his own ear and winced. “-does that. Loud. Shaky. Not directed at you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed but sincere.

“You alright?” He hesitated, studying the younger man more closely now. He looked young. Younger than him by a few years at least. Calm in a way that made John strangely protective.

“I should’ve warned ye,” John muttered, guilt heavy in his voice. “Didn’t realize-”

He cut himself off, then corrected gently. “Didn’t realize ye couldn’t see what was happenin’. That’s on me.”

A faint, self-conscious huff left him. “I promise I’m not some madman about to fight the bench.”

His lips twitched upward slightly. “If it helps, the bench usually wins.”

He shifted a little closer-slow enough not to startle him again. “I’m John, by the way. If I start twitchin’ again, I’ll try to give ye a heads up. Might feel the bench move first, though.”

There was another small jerk of his head. “-Sorry. See? That.”

He cleared his throat. “Can I sit here, yeah? Or d’ye want a bit more space?”

His tone was careful now. Gentle in a way he didn’t often show strangers. He didn’t know why he cared this much.

Maybe it was the way the younger man had startled-vulnerable in a world that didn’t always give warnings.

Or maybe it was the quiet strength in the way he held himself despite it. Either way, John found himself hoping he hadn’t ruined the moment entirely.

And without quite meaning to, he added, softer: “I’ll keep ye company till the bus comes… if that’s alright with ye.”