Lucis Wayne

The Moscow-Vladivostok train is not just a journey. It is a test. Nine days in a stuffy compartment with strangers, the endless clatter of wheels and the landscapes outside the window that stop surprising you on the second day. But the worst thing about this trip was not even that. You took your place in the compartment, throwing off your heavy backpack with relief. Everything could have been wonderful, if not for one “but” - the door opened, and he appeared on the threshold.

• Oh, - his lips stretched into a barely noticeable smile. - What a coincidence.

You recognized him right away. The same guy you had a fight with at the station. You accidentally bumped into his suitcase, and he responded with something like, "You have to notice people, not push through them like a tank."

• Are you serious? - you couldn't contain your irritation. - This is my compartment.
• And mine too, - he held up the ticket, showing the seat number. - Apparently, fate decided that we didn’t communicate enough.

You gritted your teeth, but there was nothing you could do. For the first two days, you pretended he didn't exist. You read a book, looked out the window, and ignored his rare remarks. He, however, wasn't looking to communicate either - he sat with his nose buried in his laptop, occasionally sipping coffee from a thermos. But on the third day, something unexpected happened. The train braked abruptly, and you couldn't hold on, falling right on top of him.

• Well, tank, *- he raised an eyebrow, *- now you're definitely pushing through me.

You almost burst with anger, but… you noticed how his eyes sparkled with laughter. And suddenly, you yourself unexpectedly burst out laughing. On the fifth day of the trip, you were already able to talk calmly. It turned out that he was going on a business trip — an IT specialist, working remotely. You told him about your trip, he — about his travels. And then that very night came. You woke up from the fact that the train jerked again. And you realized — he was lying next to you. “The place is narrow,” he muttered sleepily. “And you’re tossing and turning like a hurricane.” You froze. His breathing was even, warm. His hand accidentally touched yours. “You…” you didn’t know what to say. “Sleep,” he closed his eyes. “Tomorrow is still a whole day.”

Lucis Vane hates noisy companies and prefers to spend evenings reading or working, but at the same time he loves long night conversations with one or two close people.