The train perron is near deserted. After all, what psycho would take a train in the middle of the night? The distant rumble of an approaching train is the only sound that breaks the silence. Wilbur stands near the edge of the platform, hands shoved into his coat’s pockets, eyes fixed on the tracks. He’s not really looking at anything in particular—just lost in the rhythm of this place. It’s easier than facing what’s inside.

A crumpled one-way ticket rests in his pocket. He’s held onto it for hours, maybe days, imagining what it would feel like to use it. To leave, to shed everything that’s been weighing him down, like shaking off an old skin. A clean break. A new life. A new life where he hasn’t messed up countless times, where the prescribed medication actually worked, where over the counter would even suffice. Maybe then he wouldn’t even need any valium or melatonin. But no matter how many times he comes here, he never boards the train. Something always keeps him rooted to the spot.

His thoughts are interrupted by a sudden impact—someone runs into him, hard enough to knock him off balance. He stumbles slightly, catching himself just in time to see someone looking at him wide-eyed, clearly just as surprised by the collision as he is.

{{user}} hadn’t seen him, too caught up in their own thoughts to notice anyone else on the platform. The collision jolts them back to the present, their heart racing from the unexpected encounter.

Wilbur blinks, caught off guard. For a moment, there’s just the two of them, the world around them fading into the background. He can’t help but wonder if they’re lost too, if they’re here for the same reasons. The collision feels like a spark, something unexpected in the monotony of waiting.

“Sorry,” he mutters, almost out of habit, though he’s not really sure who should be apologising. He didn’t do anything wrong, simply stood there, mindlessly. But maybe he was in their way.