Chapter Text
Morning dawned on the Winter Express like a quiet secret. A silvery veil lay over the windows, delicate frost had spread in delicate patterns, as if someone had drawn flowers from ice on the glass. The train moved steadily through a :b:grayish-blue landscape where the sky was barely distinguishable from the snow-covered fields. Klein breathed in the cold air that entered the corridor whenever he opened one of the doors to the connecting area. His breath formed a small white cloud, only a second before the pleasant warmth of the compartment swallowed it up again. He loved this moment. The transition from the frosty outside to the warm inside. This quiet beginning of a new day full of movement, tasks, and encounters. With his usual care, he walked down the aisle, knocked on doors, asked about the passengers' wishes, wished them a good morning. The people on the Winter Express often had a special mood in the morning, quieter, slower, but also more honest. As if they only showed who they really were in this first hour. He stopped in front of a door with a slightly crooked brass sign, cabin 17. Leonard's cabin. Klein raised his hand to knock, but his fingers hovered in the air for a moment. He told himself he was only doing this to check if the poet needed extra blankets or if everything was okay. After all, it was his job. He knocked twice, softly but firmly. A muffled rustling was heard, then a "come in" that was still slightly obscured by sleep. When Klein opened the door, his eyes fell on Leonard, who was already sitting, although his hair was still untidy and the blanket had slipped slightly over his shoulders. He had a notebook in his hand, but it was closed, so quickly that it almost looked like he had hidden it. "Good morning, Mr... Leonard," Klein corrected himself in time. He kept his gaze neutral enough not to linger too long on the disheveled, surprisingly gentle image before him. Leonard smiled. A sleepy, warm smile that felt like it belonged to this frosty morning. "Klein," he said softly. "Up this early?" "Duty calls," Klein replied, touching his hat. "I wanted to ask if everything was okay. Sometimes it gets a bit... windy in the northern sections." Leonard pulled the blanket a bit tighter around him. "Well, now that you mention it, it might be a bit cold in here. But I thought that was just the way it was. It's a winter express, after all." "It would almost be disappointing if I were sweating in here," Klein had to smile. He tried to hide it, but he hardly succeeded. "I can bring you a second blanket," he offered. "Or a hot water bottle. Some passengers prefer-" "Stay," Leonard interrupted suddenly. Not sharply. Not demanding. Just... calm. Almost casually. And yet the word struck Klein like an unexpected warm draft. Leonard corrected himself, tilting his head slightly: "I mean- you can stay for a short while. I wanted to thank you. For yesterday," his gaze became hard to decipher for a moment. "For the hat. And your company.", Klein nodded slowly.
He felt the familiar uncertainty creeping into his shoulders, the feeling that the poet was looking at him too often, too directly. That he was perceiving too much. "It was nothing special," he finally said. "Just part of my work." "Maybe," Leonard muttered, "but sometimes small things make a morning warmer." Klein didn't know what to say in response. He cleared his throat, seeking solace in his professionalism, which seemed surprisingly fragile today. "I'll bring you another blanket anyway," he said, a little too quickly. Leonard nodded, and his green eyes lost their sleepy haze for a brief moment. "I would be glad," Klein left the compartment again, but before he closed the door, he heard Leonard say something quietly, perhaps to himself, perhaps to Klein, perhaps to the morning. "And already the day writes its first line," the door clicked softly into the lock. Klein stood in the hallway for a moment, breathing shallowly. He didn't know exactly why. Maybe because Leonard pronounced every word as if it were more important than it should be. Maybe because Klein found it unusual to be looked at so attentively by someone. Or maybe because the winter express felt warmer today than usual. With that, Klein set out to work on his daily routine. The Winter Express continued to plow through the vast, snow-covered landscape, and the hours of the day began to follow one another in a quiet, pleasant rhythm. Klein went about his work as usual, checking tickets, giving information, explaining to small children why the snow was swirling around the windows as if it were in a hurry, or bringing them something to play with. And yet, at some point, Klein noticed that his thoughts kept drifting away. Not strongly. Just small moments. A word, a sentence, an unexpected image, and suddenly he saw those green eyes again, which had looked at him so intently in the morning, as if he were a particularly interesting paragraph in a book. He didn't know where Leonard's admiration for him came from, or what he found so good about him. He pushed it away, of course. It would almost be disappointing if I were sweating in here," Klein had to smile. He tried to hide it, but he hardly succeeded. "I can bring you a second blanket," he offered. "Or a hot water bottle. Some passengers prefer-" "Stay," Leonard interrupted suddenly. Not sharply. Not demanding. Just... calm. Almost casually. And yet the word struck Klein like an unexpected warm draft. Leonard corrected himself, tilting his head slightly: "I mean- you can stay for a short while. I wanted to thank you. For yesterday," his gaze became hard to decipher for a moment.It would almost be disappointing if I were sweating in here," Klein had to smile. He tried to hide it, but he hardly succeeded. "I can bring you a second blanket," he offered. "Or a hot water bottle. Some passengers prefer-" "Stay," Leonard interrupted suddenly. Not sharply. Not demanding. Just... calm. Almost casually. And yet the word struck Klein like an unexpected warm draft. Leonard corrected himself, tilting his head slightly: "I mean- you can stay for a short while. I wanted to thank you. For yesterday," his gaze became hard to decipher for a moment."I would be glad," Klein left the compartment again, but before he closed the door, he heard Leonard say something quietly, perhaps to himself, perhaps to Klein, perhaps to the morning. "And already the day writes its first line," the door clicked softly into the lock. Klein stood in the hallway for a moment, breathing shallowly. He didn't know exactly why. Maybe because Leonard pronounced every word as if it were more important than it should be. Maybe because Klein found it unusual to be looked at so attentively by someone. Or maybe because the winter express felt warmer today than usual. With that, Klein set out to work on his daily routine.It would almost be disappointing if I were sweating in here," Klein had to smile. He tried to hide it, but he hardly succeeded. "I can bring you a second blanket," he offered. "Or a hot water bottle. Some passengers prefer-" "Stay," Leonard interrupted suddenly. Not sharply. Not demanding. Just... calm. Almost casually. And yet the word struck Klein like an unexpected warm draft. Leonard corrected himself, tilting his head slightly: "I mean- you can stay for a short while. I wanted to thank you. For yesterday," his gaze became hard to decipher for a moment.The Winter Express continued to plow through the vast, snow-covered landscape, and the hours of the day began to follow one another in a quiet, pleasant rhythm. Klein went about his work as usual, checking tickets, giving information, explaining to small children why the snow was swirling around the windows as if it were in a hurry, or bringing them something to play with. And yet, at some point, Klein noticed that his thoughts kept drifting away. Not strongly. Just small moments. A word, a sentence, an unexpected image, and suddenly he saw those green eyes again, which had looked at him so intently in the morning, as if he were a particularly interesting paragraph in a book. He didn't know where Leonard's admiration for him came from, or what he found so good about him. He pushed it away, of course. He was a conductor. He was professional. He had a job to do and not to constantly hang around a passenger he had only known for a day. But the winter express was different that day... or he was the one who was different. In the train's lounge, the small, cozy waiting car, a gramophone played softly. A wintry melody, something between a waltz and a winter classic, filled the room as some passengers sat in soft armchairs and drank hot cocoa. Klein thought it was probably White Christmas by Bing Crosby, but he wasn't really listening that closely. The windows were slightly fogged, and a child had drawn little stars with his finger. Klein stopped to take a look around. "Would you like a cup?" asked the older lady, who was just telling stories to two children and holding a steaming pot of cocoa. "Oh, no, thank you. I... I'm working. But thank you for the offer." "All the more reason to take a break," she smiled knowingly. Klein kept walking before the conversation became too friendly. He wasn't very good at dealing with unexpected warmth, or unexpected attention. Especially when it came from a poet. Klein barely audible sighed before he also briefly looked outside. The winter landscape passed them by. The snow was deep in the wild nature and covered everything. A small village was barely visible due to the heavy snow. Thousands of snowflakes continued to trickle down to the ground. As the brown, gentle gaze admired the ice crystals on the window, a small pack of wolves ran alongside the tracks and tried to catch up to the steam locomotive, but their path split when the train crossed a large stone bridge that looked beautiful from every angle. The bridge spanned a large chasm above which was a large, cold waterfall. Much was iced over, while elsewhere the roaring water cascaded down into the gorge. Many animals, like a hawk family or a rabbit family, also lived in the canyon. However, Klein turned away from the sight again, which was just one of its highlights; just the view of the gorge was worth a photo. The afternoon passed, and as the snowstorm outside grew more intense, Leonard found himself in the panorama car. Klein saw him only from a distance as he opened the door to the next car. Leonard sat alone, his legs crossed, his notebook on his lap. His gaze wasn't on the pages, but on the window, on the white flakes dancing against the glass and breaking the light of the lanterns into small sparks. He seemed to hear words in silence that others couldn't perceive. At times he would lift the pen, write a line, cross it out, and write again. The man thought hard over and over again, gazing out at the snowy winter landscape through the green pine needles. He raised his head once, just briefly, and it seemed as though his eyes were scanning the car, searching for something. Or someone. Klein, who had almost disappeared into the next compartment, suddenly stopped, feeling a strange stab in his chest. He didn't know if Leonard had seen him. Or if he just wanted to believe it. Later, he met Audrey, who came out of the dining car beaming, accompanied by a happily panting Susie. "Little one!" she exclaimed excitedly. "It feels like being in a snow globe in here! I've got so many ideas - oh, and the writer from number 17 told me he was looking for inspiration too. Isn't that exciting?" Unconsciously, Klein stiffened. "You spoke...?" "Of course!" Audrey said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "He's very friendly. A little dreamy, maybe. But the way he talks...", she paused for a moment, studying Klein attentively. "Do you know him well?" "No," he said too quickly. "But you look like him," Audrey laughed, completely innocently, slapped him on the arm, and walked away. Klein sighed. Susie swished past him and for a moment trod on his boots before following her owner again.
(〇*>∀<)ゞ★☆
The day on the Winter Express was busy, but in a pleasant, almost festive calm. The scent of fresh pastry wafted from the dining car, accompanied by the occasional laughter of a family or the whispers of a couple who spoke of red noses from the cold air.In between, cups clinked, steaming tea was served, and somewhere someone played a soft tune on a harmonica that was barely louder than the rhythm of the rails. Klein worked with focus, but his thoughts kept drifting to a compartment at the end of the aisle, to green eyes and a voice that made even a simple "Good morning" sound poetic. Toward evening, when the sun had already disappeared behind a wall of snow, Klein walked through the cars one last time before he would take his break. The lamps along the ceiling bathed the train in warm, amber light, casting cozy shadows along the carpets. It was that hour when everything became quieter. Most passengers were resting, reading, or gazing dreamily out the windows at the soft falling snowflakes. Klein stopped in front of a door. Again, compartment 17. Not on purpose. At least, that's what he told himself. The corridor just led this way. And it was his duty to check. He raised his hand to knock, but hesitated. A sound came from inside. Soft, floating, almost like a whisper. Then he recognized it. Leonard's voice. But not in the form of a conversation, it was a murmur, a rhythm, a half-loud speaking, like someone who checks words before writing them on paper. Klein stopped, not close enough to really listen, but close enough that the words brushed against him like warm air from an open window. "...the silence of winter writes itself in breath and heart...and somewhere...between snow and rails...a step that changes the morning..." Klein felt his breath catch. It could be coincidental, even had to be. He wanted to turn away, to keep going, but his feet didn't seem to fully obey the gentle magnetic field of the voice. "...a look that stays...even when you keep going..." Klein blinked. His fingers tingled uncomfortably warm. He should knock, or leave, or…do something. Before he could decide, the door creaked open a crack, just a tiny moment, just enough to give him away. Leonard raised his head. Klein looked guilty just as if he had been caught stealing Christmas cookies. "Oh," said Leonard, without sounding surprised. "Klein." Klein opened his mouth, closed it again, then cleared his throat. "I just wanted to…check in. As always." Leonard's smile appeared slowly, warm and soft like the lamp behind him, which cast a golden glow on his hair. In the dim light, Klein only now noticed what a clear and gentle face Leonard has. Because the other was now so close to his face, he saw much more. "Everything is fine," Leonard said, his voice a little lower, a little rougher from the writing. "Or, to be more precise, now that you're here, even more than that." Klein didn't know if this was a joke. Or a poetic sentence. Or both. So he decided to remain cautiously neutral. "I... am disturbing you?" "Maybe," Leonard replied, but then ended the line with a gentle, almost amused tone: "But only the poem. Not me." Klein felt that warmth in his face again. He unconsciously smoothed out his uniform, a reflex that always came when he felt uncertain."Then...if you're sure everything is okay, I'll continue," Leonard said. "Is it snowing very hard outside?" Leonard interrupted before Klein could drift off to the door. "Pretty hard," Klein replied. "The next sections of the track are snowy, but they're safe." "Mm...," Leonard took a step closer, not threatening, but rather soft, as if he was moving in a different, slower time. "I like snowstorms. They make you think the world is standing still for a moment." "I don't like them much," Klein admitted honestly. "Snowstorms...make me nervous and can have fatal consequences. Especially when it comes to the train." Leonard looked at him. Soft. Almost too soft. Just attentive. Like someone writing a poem and capturing the exact moment that touches them. As Klein walked down the hallway, it snowed harder outside.
And for a fraction of a second, he wondered if it was really the wind that was making the train vibrate, or if the Winter Express was just a little more meaningful tonight. Klein quickly went to the lounge to get the pot of hot tea.When he had everything, he went back to the other man in his compartment with the tray, the can, and the two cups. The tea was steaming in the small pot as Klein walked back through the aisle. The scent of chamomile enveloped him, warm, soothing, a gentle contrast to the icy gusts that rattled the windows outside.
With each step, the light became softer, golden, and the snow in front of the train denser, almost like a curtain that turned the evening into its own little world. When he stood in front of compartment 17 again, he knocked briefly, and the door opened almost immediately, as if Leonard had been waiting for this moment. "Ah," he said, his voice a warm, deep sound. "You really came back." "I have tea," Klein replied matter-of-factly, although his heart wasn't. Leonard took a step to the side. "Then it would be impolite to send you away again," the compartment was quiet, just a small table, the notebook, the lamp, which cast a gentle circle of light over the ceiling and the bench. Outside, another snowflake drifted across the windowpane as winter watched the two men with curious eyes. Klein set the cups down and poured. His hands were calm and orderly, but his heart was beating just a little too fast. Leonard sat across from him, his fingers loosely around the cup, as if he was already packing up Klein's every move in his memory. "I didn't know which one you really wanted," Klein began. "Chamomile is perfect," Leonards gaze wandered to him, not probing, but soft. "They sound like a cup of tea brought by someone who's thinking," Klein swallowed, cleared his throat, and sidestepped the comment by taking a sip from his cup. Warmth slowly spread through him. He wasn't sure if it was from the tea or Leonard's words. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The train rumbled quietly over the tracks, a soothing, familiar sound. You could hear the wind gently singing against the windows and the muffled metallic groan of the winter express as it struggled through the snow. But here in the compartment, it was quiet. A silence that wasn't cold, but full of meaning. Leonard looked out the window and smiled. "You know... snow always makes conversations more honest. It's like it exposes everything soft." He looked back at Klein. "Thank you for staying," Klein opened his mouth to protest that he was only here because of his work, but the words didn't get out. Because Leonard didn't see him as staff. Not as a conductor. But simply as Klein. "Gern," he finally said quietly, almost surprising himself. Leonard leaned a bit closer, his elbows resting loosely on the table. "Then we'll drink together," a delicate, almost playful tone. "The Winter Express and the fact that some encounters happen exactly when you don't expect them to," Klein said, tapping him on the shoulder. The soft clinking of the porcelain cups was the softest, most beautiful sound of the evening. They drank tea. They hardly spoke, but they didn't have to. Outside, the snow fell more heavily, and inside the compartment, time seemed to flow a little more slowly. And when Klein stood up later to continue, the winter express was no longer just a train. It was the beginning of something that felt like a secret verse, one that no one had yet spoken out loud.