Re: Disembarking: Jack/Heath
Heath, who was five years younger than this guy to his eyes, was used to being called "kid" by everyone. Thanks to some really deep genes, they probably would keep calling him that until he was forty. It had to do with the roundness of his cheeks and the soft blond of his hair. Also that he probably couldn't grow a beard if he tried. (He had tried.) Heath was cold, and his shoulders hunched automatically, but he still got off that train as fast as he could without running. He put space between himself and the tracks, glancing back to be sure Jack was coming, like the shared experience was some kind of lead connecting them through the cold air. "I'm Heath, by the way. Sorry." This because they didn't formally shake hands, a formality he bypassed completely.
Jack's good mood and his smile made Heath feel a little firmer on his feet, that and the pavement. The broad shoulders tightened against the cold, and Heath glanced down at his phone again as they stood under one of the platforms. "My sister is coming, to pick us up. But I bet it's a while, she works in the Capital. Fuck." He swore like an adult, a pause in his voice, no savoring of doing something forbidden. "We should start walking then, I guess. Keep warm." He started doing as he said, texting back and then pocketing his phone for the hundredth time.
"Bet it would be easier if I put down a pin. I never did that before, didn't want the whole family knowing where I was. When I was younger my mother would track us down, like lost puppies, and that was even before phones were supposed to work that way." He could have said it with a smile, like his mother thinking they were puppies, but he didn't. His face froze instead, into a kind of uneven flat expression that did not suit his face. Heath was not a lost puppy.