Anger

The station was packed beyond capacity, the noise of rushing commuters, arriving trains, and overlapping announcements creating one massive wall of sound. You were trying to make your way toward the train when the crowd suddenly stopped moving.

A man stood in the middle of the chaos.

Red hair fell messily over his face, his expression twisted with barely contained fury. A ticket machine beside him had a shattered screen, fragments scattered across the floor. Whatever had happened, he was clearly the reason everyone had backed away.

Transit police were moving toward him.

His hands were raised near his face, fingers tense and trembling as he stared them down. His breathing was heavy, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful. Every few seconds, his eyes darted around as though everything happening around him was making his temper worse.

Then his gaze shifted.

He noticed you staring.

His eyes narrowed immediately.

He slowly turned his head toward you, his hands still hovering near his face. For a moment, he simply glared, looking like he was deciding whether you were another problem he had to deal with.

Then he snapped.

“The hell are you looking at?” His voice cut through the noise. “You got something to say?”

One of the officers told him to calm down.

He whipped his attention back toward them.

“DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!”

He immediately looked back at you, irritation still burning in his eyes.

“And you—quit staring at me.”