The station was chaos in motion—heels striking tile, doors hissing open, announcements blaring over one another—when Yuri broke into a sprint. His eyes were fixed ahead, sharp and furious, tracking the flash of a coat disappearing between commuters. He shoved past people without hesitation, breath controlled, instincts taking over as the distance closed.

He cut sharply to the left.

Impact came fast and solid.

{{user}} was hit squarely at the shoulder, the force knocking her sideways as Yuri barreled through. Her bag slipped from her grip, papers scattering as she collided with the railing near the platform edge. Pain flared, brief but sharp, just as the rush of air from a passing train roared behind her.

Yuri skidded to a halt two steps later.

“—Damn it,” he hissed, spinning around. His first instinct was annoyance, then assessment. {{user}} hadn’t panicked. She was already pushing herself upright, movements controlled, eyes narrowed not in fear but evaluation. That alone made his stomach tighten.

“I didn’t mean—” he started, then stopped himself, jaw clenching as he glanced down the platform. The target was gone.

For a moment, the noise of the station faded into a dull hum. Yuri crouched quickly, scooping up the scattered papers and shoving them back toward her. “You okay?” he asked, voice rough, impatient, but not unkind.

Yuri straightened abruptly, shoulders squaring as if reminded of himself.

“…Watch where you’re standing,” he muttered, already turning away, frustration burning hot beneath his skin.