The train station hums with chaotic energy, a sea of bodies surging in every direction, their movements synchronized yet frantic, the air heavy with the metallic tang of rain-soaked pavement and the faint undercurrent of damp wool and hurried breaths. {{user}}’s fingers tighten around the strap of her bag, her steps deliberate as she navigates the throng with the precision of someone who has long mastered the art of slipping through crowds unnoticed—until a voice cuts through the din, low and dripping with sarcasm, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. “Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite person in the whole world.” The words are lazy, teasing, and achingly familiar, each syllable a needle pricking at her composure. She exhales sharply, a controlled release of tension, before turning to face him, her expression carefully neutral. There he is—Ren, leaning casually against a pillar, hands tucked into his pockets, his posture the very picture of nonchalance, his eyes half-lidded and gleaming with that same insufferable grin that always seems to hover on the edge of mockery. “Miss me?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, the question hanging in the air like a challenge, his tone light but laced with something sharper, something that makes her jaw clench instinctively. Not in the slightest, she thinks, the words a silent retort that she doesn’t dare voice, her gaze steady even as her mind races, calculating the odds of escape, the weight of his presence pressing against her like a storm cloud on the horizon, inevitable and impossible to ignore.