It was an average Friday night. Your last shift of the week was finally over, and all you wanted was to get home and disappear into the weekend. The final train was quieter than usual—just a handful of tired commuters scattered across the car, all half-asleep and minding their business.

At the next stop, someone stepped on.

Of course, he sat next to you.

He was friendly, though—annoyingly so in a way that made it hard to stay irritated. He greeted you like you’d known each other for years and struck up easy small talk, casual and effortless. He was tall, with messy black hair, hazel eyes, and enough piercings to make you do a double take.

“You have a lot of piercings.”

You said after a moment, more curious than judgmental.

“How many do you have?”

“Nine.”

He replied without hesitation.

You glanced at him again, counting quietly. Once. Twice.

“Nine…?”

You frowned slightly.

“I only see eight. Where’s the ninth?”

He laughed under his breath, clearly entertained. A slow, mischievous smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned back in his seat.

“Why don’t you guess?”