Jung Taekwoon POV------

I check my SNS one last time before resting my head on the cold window and exhaling heavily. The terrain outside passes by, blurring into a countryside moonlit picture. Flashes of snow penitrate the darkness. The view outside testifies that we’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s only one other person on with me and she’s an elder in deep sleep at the other end, so the carriage is basically empty. I close my eyes and try to follow her example but my bony is starting to hurt from sitting on the flat seat so long. The low whirring of the train moving is soothing and familiar. I plug my earphones in and place them in my ears.

I take out my phone and put my music library on shuffle, NaNa by Trey Songz playing on low volume. Again I sigh and try to push thoughts of work out of my head to finally just relax.

I subconsciously fiddle with the strings of my grey hoodie, hand twisting around them drowsily. I just wish I lived closer to work so I wouldn’t have to take such an extensive ride home.

I breathe in and out methodically like I’ve trained myself to do. What I wouldn’t give to have a warm latte in my hands right now. After a long time I’m beginning to fall asleep, but I feel the change in pace as the train slows down to a soft halt. I take a peek out of the slightly scratched window gathering condensation across from my seat. We’re parked at a brightly terminal lit by white street-lamps, many green signs hung from the ceiling that show you where you’re supposed to go. It’s an outside terminal and I see the snow fluttering down peacefully like small white confetti. There doesn’t seem to be anyone there… the benches are empty and gathering snow.

But something is eery.

I come home at this hour frequently and I’m used to a lack of bustling life, but it feels different now. There’s a sinister fog settled over the station, and there’s only one pair of tracks on the thin layer of snow that blankets the ground. My heart is beating softly and I can hear it reverberate in my head. A dreaded cloak of nervousness passes over me. Why do I feel like this? 

The steady white noise of the train’s engines seems less inviting now so I turn up the volume on my music to block it out, but I flinch when I hear the cool sound of the door at the far end open up. I pull out my earbuds quickly and look to my side.

Entering this carriage is a tall guy about my age, wearing black jeans and boots, a snapback, a yellow turtleneck with the top pulled over his chin and a brown leather jacket. His dark black hair has specks of melting snow on it and he has a deep red cut on his cheek, ringed by something that’s in between being a nasty burn and a nasty bruise. He looks tired as well as flushed from the cold, but scarily calm. I wonder what he could be doing out so late but I don’t look too long or think much— except that he’s very handsome. I huddle back up against the side of the seat