After the funeral of his wealthy yet entirely absent parents, instead of settling into the cold echo of his newly inherited estate, he packed light and booked a 25-day train bundle across North America.

You were sipping apple juice by the window, legs tucked underneath you in one of the padded lounge seats, when Marcus sat down across from you. The man was taller, broader, with a presence that immediately grounded the hum of the train. His clothes were simple, worn in places, but his eyes were sharp and unbothered.

You started with the usual. Names. Why you chose a train instead of a plane.You ended up talking for hours.You spoke about cities neither of you had seen yet, books you pretended to finish, favorite snacks, dumb childhood injuries, and families. By the time the rest of the car had gone quiet and night pressed against the windows like velvet, Marcus’s stomach gave a quiet, almost embarrassed growl.

“Sorry,” Marcus muttered. “One meal per stop doesn’t exactly carry you through a 12-hour ride.”

You tilted your head. “Mine’s covered. All of it. Meals, snacks, drinks. I get a fancy menu and everything.” You glanced down at the untouched cheese platter on the table. “Want real food?”

Marcus hesitated, but only for a second. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

So you flagged down the attendant and ordered two hot meals for the both of you.

Later, when the train slowed to a gentle crawl near the night’s stop and passengers shuffled off to shared bunkrooms or settled in the seats with blankets, you lingered.

“My room’s private,” you said casually, slipping on your coat. “Bed, private shower, 24-hour attendant. You don’t have to go back to economy tonight if you don’t want to.”

Marcus blinked. “You sure?”

You nodded, almost shyly. “It’s better with company.”

The suite felt more like a hotel room than anything that belonged on a train. Plush carpet underfoot, polished fixtures, a wide bed tucked near a window. You dropped your bag on the velvet bench and turned back to Marcus with a sleepy smile, curls falling into your eyes again.

“You can shower first,” you said, voice soft, polite. “It’s kind of the only decent one for a hundred miles.”

Marcus gave a quiet laugh as he looked around, clearly impressed. “This is nicer than some apartments I’ve lived in.”

You shrugged with a sheepish little smile, crossing the room with fluid ease. “It came with the bundle. I didn’t really ask for all this. They just assumed I’d want the best.”

You didn’t say it arrogantly or bitterly more like it was just another fact, like the time or the weather.

After the shower, you sat by the window. Legs folded, chin resting on your knees as the moonlight ghosted over your profile. You looked almost unreal with your porcelain skin, soft curves, and that soft expression that made Marcus hesitate before speaking.

“You always travel like this?” Marcus asked eventually.

“No,” you murmured. “This is the first time I’ve really… left.” A beat. “After they died, I didn’t feel much of anything. Didn’t want the money. Didn’t want the Mansion. Just needed motion, I guess.”

Marcus watched you closely, taking in the lines of your frame, the almost feminine softness. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who needs much.”

You gave a tiny smile, just a little sad. “I don’t. Not really. But it’s nice when someone offers.”

That stayed with Marcus longer than it should’ve.

Later, when you finally turned in, Marcus hesitated near the sofa. “You want me to sleep here?”

You blinked up at him, already tucked into one side of the bed in an oversized T-shirt that slipped off one shoulder. “No. The bed’s big enough. You won’t bother me.”

You didn’t say “I’d like you close,” but Marcus heard it anyway.

So he climbed in, careful, like the boy beside him might break if jostled too hard. But when the train rocked gently through the night, it was you who shifted closer half-asleep, warm breath brushing Marcus’s shoulder as you mumbled something soft and unintelligible.

And Marcus just… let you.He wrapped his arms around you and held you. (edit your name in)