Baekhyun receives a request while dozing on his sofa. He thinks he recognizes the man, but, like a cartoon villain, his face is always hidden somehow.

Baekhyun is used to not knowing his clients’ identities. He’s even paid not to know.

The details are simple: retrieve a briefcase, use the ticket from the front pocket to board a train, and hand over the briefcase to the person in the destination station. Baekhyun accepts the job, shakes the man’s hand, and finds himself on the floor of his apartment beside the sofa.

Drop day finds Baekhyun waiting miserably beneath a bridge. He can barely see through the curtain of rain and watches as a puddle grows and follows the dips and bends of the road, angling towards his feet and veering away to the gutter.

A stranger hidden by a hood sets their briefcase on the wall and fumbles in their pockets. They shuffle around a bit and leave, briefcase carefully forgotten. Baekhyun grabs it and tucks it under his arm.

The station is packed. A magnificently enormous steel engine rests heavily on its tracks, gleaming from the rain that continues to pound on the glass ceiling overhead. Baekhyun can’t even see the whole train; the cars extend beyond the canopy of the station.

He boards the train and finds a seat in an empty cabin. Inside is all dark wood and cool, elegant hues, muted by dim lights. He shakes out his wet jacket and drapes it over the opposite bench. With most passengers settling into cabins or migrating to the observation and lounge cars, Baekhyun stores the mysterious case above the seats, slid far back to the wall and unnoticeable unless sought out. It’s safer than keeping it with him, he decides.

The whistle blows and the train pulls out of the station. Baekhyun idly watches the city shrink into suburbs and countryside. The case sits above him, and he stares at it, wondering what’s inside, then hastily greets the conductor, showing his ticket.

He peers out the sliding door—the conductor continues his path, walking with the confidence of someone who has spent many years on rocking trains—and follows the flow of the crowd on the right side of the narrow corridor.

They hurry between trains; the rainstorm carefully tracks the train and keeps pace as it picks up speed in open countryside. Even the brief walk from one car to another nearly soaks them. Stewards are on standby with towels and considerate smiles but more worry for the furniture being soaked and the next occupant acting as sponge.

The lounge car's long, polished bar is manned by an efficient bartender who blindly juggles bottles and pours drinks in varying glasses without spilling. Comfortable chairs with little tables in-between face the walls of windows to showcase the scenery. It’s all overcast and dark, but the lightning is exciting, and the distant horizon is light, beyond the reach of the storm.

Baekhyun perches on a bar stool and orders a drink, swatting his hat to try and make it dry faster before letting it sit on his knee. The drink chases the coolness that settled over his damp arms and shoulders. He’s amused to notice a little golden deer head on the bottom of the glass, slowly emerging as the drink is downed.

The far door opens with a rattle, and a man passes through silently. Stewards quickly mop up the rain he brings with him, but he continues through.

Baekhyun has the feeling the man looked at him, though. When the lounge car occupants looked up at the newcomer, as is the usual human phenomenon, he just barely turned his head towards Baekhyun.

He seems to have smiled. If they knew one another, the man should’ve said something. That’s the feeling, anyway, but Baekhyun couldn’t even see the man’s face.

He wishes he had. If it was as glorious as his build, Baekhyun would follow him to wherever he was going and introduce himself.

Self-consciously, Baekhyun looks down at his shirt, but there’s no stain; he’s not dribbled on himself.

He throws back the rest of the drink, resisting the choking cough at the burn in back of his throat, and weakly thanks the bartender. Planting his hat back on his head, he decides to brave the elements to sit in the observation car. With its entire roof built of transparent glass, there’s a nearly uninterrupted view, and he’s always enjoyed rainstorms.

There’s some magic in rain and thunder that lulls Baekhyun into a trance. With every rock of the car, he slips into deeper darkness, sliding down a tunnel that ends in face-to-face bench seats. The man across from him faces the window but looks at Baekhyun.

He quickly sits up; his slouching posture and relaxed legs had caged his companion in his seat. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Nighttime shades his face. “You should sleep in your cabin,” he adds, “you’ll catch cold here.”

“I’m okay.” Baekhyun squints but can’t see through the dark. “Do I know you?”

“You will,” the man replies, reaching for Baekhyun’s knee.

“Wait.” Holding his legs up like he’