Y/n sat alone in the compartment, knees drawn up, a half-read textbook abandoned beside them. The train had been moving for nearly an hour now, and the corridor outside remained silent—no footsteps, no laughter, no sliding doors.

Then, a muffled thud. Followed by swearing.

The compartment door slid open with a screech of protest, and a boy tumbled through it, slicking wet hair out of his eyes. He was handsome in that reckless, almost unfair way—sharp cheekbones, grey eyes, a grin that had clearly never been told no.