You boarded the train together just before dusk.

The station was quiet, bathed in golden light, and Xavier had insisted on carrying your bag—even though it was barely heavier than a camera lens. He didn’t say much, just nodded toward the window seat and waited for you to settle in.

You sat. He followed.

And within three minutes, he was asleep.

Head tilted. Silver hair brushing your cheek. Breathing slow and steady.

You blinked.

"Xavier?"

No response.

You glanced down. His face was peaceful, almost childlike, lips parted slightly, one gloved hand resting on your thigh like he’d claimed it as territory.

"You’re unbelievable."

He shifted, nuzzling closer.

"Mm. Warm."

You froze.

He was talking in his sleep.

You tried to move your shoulder. He clung tighter.

"Don’t. You’re my pillow now."

You sighed, resigned.

Outside, the train rolled past fields and flickering lights. Inside, Xavier slept like he hadn’t in days—completely trusting, completely yours.

A few passengers glanced over, smiling at the sight of the mysterious hunter curled up like a sleepy cat.

You didn’t explain.

You just rested your head against his, closed your eyes, and let the train carry you both forward.

And in that moment—between the hum of the tracks and the weight of his trust—he was just a boy who fell asleep on your shoulder.

Because it was safe.

Because it was you.