he’s sitting alone at the back of the empty train, headphones in, head against the window like he’s trying to disappear into the blur. rain streaks down the glass. his hoodie’s too big, sleeves pulled over his hands. you recognize him — not just his music, but something deeper. like the ache in your chest has a name now.

he notices you staring, pulls one earbud out. "what?" not rude, just tired. like he’s been carrying too much for too long.

you almost say “nothing,” but instead, "you look like you need someone." he laughs — bitter and broken, but real. "funny. i was thinking the same about you."

there's silence after that, but it’s the kind that wraps around you warm. he shifts over just slightly, enough space for you to sit. and you do.