Miss the Coach

The Quiet Street

They stood beside the bus stop, not quite under the shelter, not quite out of it either.

The street was quieter than the places they had spent the past few days. No arcade machines. No crowded venue. Just rain against pavement and the distant hum of late-night traffic.

The raccoon leaned slightly against the post, still talking through the day at the arcade as though the competition had somehow remained unresolved.

“Still beat you in the fighting game,” the raccoon added.

The centipede let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh.

“Sure.”

They drifted from one moment to another like that. Arcade, concert, dinner, the long search for the swings earlier that evening. Small details, most of them meaningless on their own, but together they had become something larger.

A story of the last three days.

Somewhere in the middle of it, the raccoon stepped slightly closer.

The centipede stepped forward in return, just enough.

One More Moment

Down the road, headlights appeared as the coach finally arrived to take the raccoon home.

Neither of them pointed it out.

But both of them saw it.

The raccoon shifted forward slightly, one hand lifting toward the centipede.

“Well… I guess I should go.”

“Yeah.”

The centipede closed the remaining distance between them. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt inevitable, like the previous three days had quietly been building toward this exact moment.

It lasted longer than it probably should have.

Long enough that neither of them seemed particularly interested in being the one to let go first.

Behind them, the coach pulled in. Travellers stepped off. Others boarded. The street briefly filled with movement and noise.

Still, neither of them moved.

Eventually, the centipede leaned back just enough to look at the raccoon.

“You should go, or you’ll get stuck here,” it said.

The raccoon nodded slowly.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

It turned, taking a step toward the coach.

The doors closed.

The engine growled softly.

And then it was gone again, pulling away as simply as it had arrived.

The raccoon stopped and watched it disappear down the road before turning back toward the centipede.

Not the Worst Thing

A small breath escaped the raccoon, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.

“Well… that’s not ideal.”

The centipede stepped up beside them, glancing down the now-empty street.

“I should’ve said something sooner. Sorry.”

“Yeah, probably should have,” the raccoon admitted.

A small pause followed.

“Not the worst thing though.”

The centipede moved slightly closer.

“The next one won’t be for a while,” it said.

The raccoon nodded.

“Guess I’m stuck here right enough then.”

“You’re starting to sound like you planned that.”

The centipede gave them a look that very clearly suggested it was no longer trusting the raccoon’s innocence in these matters.

The raccoon laughed and stepped closer again.

And while they waited together beneath the rain and streetlights, neither of them watched for the next coach.