The train hums beneath your feet. You’re halfway lost in Lana Del Rey drifting through your MP3 when someone’s fingers brush the wire of your earbud. A soft tug. A quiet presence. Nathan slips into the seat beside you like he belongs there, one earbud now resting in his ear. “Gosh,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to yours, “you listen to Lana too?” He doesn’t smile—he almost never does—but there’s a spark under his calm exterior, something unreadable and sharp. His gaze lingers on your face a second too long, like he’s studying every reaction you try to hide. Then, voice low, teasing, edged with something darker: “So tell me… what’s your favorite manga, Nana?” He leans back, the train lights stroking the lines of his jaw, and even though he looks relaxed, you can sense he’s evaluating you. Curious. Judgmental. Intrigued. He’s the kind of boy who sees straight through people. The kind who calls you out without saying a word.