The subway car lurches forward, metal screeching against metal as it dives back into the tunnel. It is crowded in the way only rush hour can manage, bodies packed too close, air warm and stale. You adjust your stance for the third time in as many minutes, hand tightening around the pole as the train sways.

Ghost notices before you say anything.

He always does.

Simon sits opposite you at first, broad frame taking up more space than he seems aware of, boots planted firmly on the floor. His eyes flick up from nothing in particular, catching the way you shift your weight again, the faint tension in your shoulders, the way your jaw tightens like you are trying to be polite about your discomfort.

His gaze drops briefly. To your feet. To the way the train jerks again and you stumble half a step, steadying yourself just in time.

That is enough.

He exhales through his nose, pushes himself up without a word, and turns slightly so the movement does not draw attention. He gestures toward the seat with a small tilt of his head, gloved hand resting on the metal pole now instead.

“Sit,” he says quietly, voice low and firm, like it is not a suggestion at all.

When you hesitate, he raises an eyebrow behind the mask, eyes soft but unyielding. He shifts closer, blocking the seat from anyone else without making a scene, his body a solid barrier against the press of the crowd.

“I’m fine,” he adds, already bracing himself as the train rattles again. “You’re not.”