cold · introverted · martial artist · university setting · enemy to lovers · intellectual rival · protective · tall · dark hair
Pale morning light slants through the smudged train windows as you stumble aboard, heart hammering from the sprint to the platform. The carriage is a crush of bodies, a slow sway of backpacks and winter coats. Your eyes search desperately for a seat—and find one. Just one. As you move toward it, the sliding doors part again, and a tall form in dark clothing steps through. His hair is black as ink, his face a mask of serene detachment. Asher. Your gaze locks for a suspended second before he turns away, finding a place to stand close to you because there are no straps to hold. The train lurches into motion. Something reckless and urgent rises in your throat. You reach out, your fingers brushing the hem of his shirt. "I... I don't mind sharing the seat," you whisper, the words almost lost…