One. Two. Three. Pull. Josephâs right eye squinted in a wince as the suitcase let out a light thump, landing onto the next step. It wasnât particularly powerful, but the young man had set himself high expectations for subtlety. To even attempt silence with such a weighted bag meant a long, tedious process, but it would be worth it if it allowed him to move his possessions in peace. It was a plan, but as with all things in the universe, that didnât mean it would work out.
It came less than a minute inâthe sudden sound of voices drawing nearerâa male and a female, it seemed. It was coming from upstairs. Attempting to twist his head around, the distraction caused him to lose control mid-glance, the suitcase slipping sharply down a couple of steps and sending a jagged pain to cut into his right shoulder as the load almost pulled him to the ground. Struggling to regain the bagâs control, he was currently straddled across the entire width of the stairwell. This was a problem. Blocking their path would likely mean that he would be asked to move, be dictated by etiquette to answer questions about who he was, which room he was staying in⌠It was far too time-consuming. Joseph concluded that he would have to sacrifice his stealth, at least for the moment, and so ignoring the throb of pain pushing down his arm, he picked up his pace, heaving the load cacophonously up toward the landing in a series of ungraceful bumps and thuds.
He made it just in time. A young man and woman passed him without incident, the two of them too involved in their own personal interactions to notice the dark-haired figure pressed discretely out of the way. It appeared that the male was leaving, but such an observation seemed largely irrelevant at this point. Leaning against the railing, Josephâs weight sandwiched the bag momentarily in place, his left hand crossing over his chest to press its fingers into his right deltoid, air hissing a bit through his teeth as he rolled his joint in a vertical 360-degrees. It felt like a minor strain, nothing that the passage of time couldnât heal, but that didnât prevent it from being a major annoyance in the moment. Puffing out a couple expectant lungfuls of air, Josephâs hand gripped again onto the handle and began dragging the weight up the stairs toward the next floor. Dwelling on the matter served no practical purpose. It was his own fault. He would just have to pay more attention next time⌠although, ideally, there would not be a next time. Ideally, he would drop off this bag, repeat his process with the next three and be finished⌠without complication. However, with so many residents, the odds were against him. Apparently.
It was a third voice. Female. Very close. Joseph was slow to turn, this time, first making sure that he had proper grip on the suitcase. His eyes scanned automatically, and rather unsubtly, over herâshort, dark hair, very blue eyes, etc.âbut his expression did not register any particular reaction to what he saw. It was like making a record and then filing it immediately away without review. That usual changeâthat shift in comfortâon a personâs face when someone goes from being a stranger to an acquaintance: That didnât happen, but he didnât appear particularly displeased to see her, either. She was simply there, another element to process and adapt to. Stepping down a couple of stairs so that the bag was now in front of him, Joseph allowed its weight to lean back against his shins so that it freed up his hands for the time being. Apparently, her name was Aina. She probably expected his name in return. âJoseph,â he reached out his hand in the traditional show of courtesy, eye twitching slightly at the pang that flew into it. It was distracting in the moment, yes, but his attention never fully moved away from her. It was so steady that it had the potential to be unsettling for some. They might wonder what he was thinking, but âobservingâ or âhypothesizingâ might have been more precise verbs.
âThey are mine, but I do not immediately see how you could help me,â he spoke in a tone that was entirely matter-of-fact. It was neither humorous nor condescending. âYour build suggests that you do not possess any especial physical strength.â He continued to stare at her, but not at any particular part of her, the lack of focus in his eyes seeming to suggest that a decent portion of his attention was directed inward on his own thought process, âAlthough⌠visual appearance is a notoriously inaccurate indicator for many thingsâŚâ Suddenly, Joseph blinked, and his own blue gaze honed in behind his dark, plastic frames, now fully connecting with hers. âDo you feel like you actually could help me, or are you simply compelled by courtesy to offer?â His head tilted slightly, as if examining her more closely, this time, but again, his delivery: completely flat. He didnât seem to realize or care that, on face value, that his words might have seemed sarcastic or even entirely rude, perhaps. After all, in spite of appearances, Joseph was genuinely interested in her response, as it seemed, to him, a reasonable question. His shoulder was giving him trouble, so if she was capable of offering him assistance, it would be irrational to refuse her, even if he had initially hoped to move alone. On the other hand, if she could not or did not truly wish to help him, finding out now would likely prevent both of them from wasting more time.