Chapter Text
The train always smelled faintly like coffee and dust.
Isabella liked that, though. It was grounding, like how the soft lurch of the train rocking into motion gave her something steady to focus on. She sat in her usual seat: window side, third row from the back, facing forward. Always with her earbuds in. Always with a book on her lap, even if she rarely turned the pages.
This morning, like every morning for the past three weeks, he was already there.
Across the aisle. Hoodie up. Head tilted down. Fingers dancing over the controls of his Switch. Wired headphones in, cord trailing down into the pocket of his black cargo pants. He never looked up when the train stopped. Never blinked when people passed him. Just focused. His shoulders hunched, brows drawn, mouth slightly open like he was about to say something, but never did.
She didn't know his name. But she knew he liked combat games. Strategy-heavy ones. His console screen often lit up with swords, armor, or old stone ruins, worlds that looked like the pages of a history textbook came to life. One day, he'd been fighting Roman gladiators. Another day, it was something with knights and siege towers. This morning?
Vikings.
Isabella squinted across the aisle just a little. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to see the longship on the screen. Carved dragon head. Crashing waves. Ragnarök Quest IV, if she remembered the trailer right.
She tugged her oversized hoodie tighter around herself and blinked hard, trying not to sit too much in the seat. Her leg bounced a little anyway. ADHD mornings were rough. She'd forgotten to pack her usual fidget ring. Again.
Still, she watched him.
Not in a creepy way. Just curious.
He was beautiful, in a kind of soft-but-sharp way. His jawline looked like it had been sculpted, and his lips were a little too full for someone who never smiled. His hands were tattooed. His delicate designs curled down the side of his thumb. She wondered if they hurt when he got them. She wondered if he ever used lotion, because his knuckles looked dry.
She was mid-thought...did Viking helmets have horns, or was that just artistic liberty? That's when he suddenly paused the game.
Isabella froze.
Oh no.
Had he seen her looking? Did she stare too long? Was her mouth open again?
He turned his head, slowly, just enough that his eyes met hers. Warm brown, sharp under thick lashes.
She almost dropped her book.
Isabella tried to play it cool, but something in her panic made her blurt, "Actually... Viking helmets didn't have horns. That was a Victorian-era myth. Popularized by opera costumes."
Silence.
Oh God.
His eyes widened just a little. And then
A soft smile.
Anod.
And just like that, he turned back to his game.
She sat there, skin buzzing, brain buzzing even louder. She didn't know why her heart was beating so fast. Or why her hands felt warm. She just smiled. A little. Into her scarf.
The train kept moving.
So did they.