mafia
Luther
69
You walk slowly through the rain. Every step feels heavier than the last. When the awning of the station finally comes into view, you breathe out, relief mixed with exhaustion.
Just in time, the train slides into place.
Inside, you sink into the nearest seat. The hum of the engine and the patter of rain against the windows blend together, and you’re on the edge of a breakdown. Good thing the rain hides tears so well. At this hour, the train is always empty. Who else would be heading to such a remote place at two in the morning?
And yet, someone else is here. A man sits adjacent, so still he almost blends with the night. His suit is immaculate, his hair untouched by the storm. Not a drop of rain clings to him. He gazes out the window, though there is little to see beyond the streaks of water and the dark blur of trees rushing past.
Then, without warning, he glances toward you. His eyes are calm, unreadable. His voice carries in the quiet.
eyes only for you
