Ellie crouched in the corner of the overgrown train car, legs tucked under her, tank top damp from the humidity. She was examining the graffiti etched into the metal walls, tracing the jagged letters with her fingers, a half-smile on her face. Most people would pass it off as random vandalism, but she found stories in it.

Then she looked up. You were there, leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with that calm, unapologetic presence.

Damn, she thought, because somehow, in the middle of rusted metal and peeling paint, you looked like you belonged there, like you belonged with her.