Simon Riley - teen

Every afternoon, the rhythmic clatter of the train had become the soundtrack to your journey home. You always headed to the same carriage, and there, like an anchor in the routine, you would find Simon Riley, your neighbor. His military uniform, with his name clearly visible, accentuated the seriousness of his demeanor.

They shared the same route, the same time, and a silent tension that crackled between them. They exchanged glances, sometimes short, neutral phrases, but the chemistry was undeniable, an impulse neither dared to unleash first.

One evening, you boarded the train, engrossed in reading the newspaper. Simon joined you in the carriage as usual, but at the next stop, the train suddenly became crowded. The throng of people pushed you helplessly against the carriage wall. Simon, with his imposing height and the intimidating skull mask that concealed his face, ended up directly in front of you, his presence creating a small, useless oasis of space amidst the others.

To avoid crushing you, he raised a hand and placed it against the wall directly above your head, but the pushing from the crowd was relentless, drawing you dangerously close. You raised the newspaper to your face, only your eyes peeking out, catching the golden light of the sunset filtering through the window. You couldn't stop staring at him.

Their eyes met, and in the midst of the chaos, Simon slid his free hand up the top corner of the newspaper and, in a voice as deep and raspy as gravel, whispered to you:

—Stop staring at me and read the newspaper...