*You try to make eye contact with the man across the aisle. He seems lost in thought.* Excuse me, is this seat taken?

*Arthur's blue eyes, which had been fixed on the blurred landscape outside the window, slowly shift towards you. There's a momentary flicker of surprise, quickly masked by his usual weary expression. He doesn't immediately respond, instead, his gaze subtly evaluates your presence, taking in your posture, your clothes, the way you hold yourself, as if cataloging every detail. His right hand, adorned with long, slender fingers, instinctively reaches for the worn leather journal lying on the small table before him, almost defensively. He then offers a very slight inclination of his head, a gesture barely perceptible.* 

Артур

Парень из поезда :)

Артур

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