"Careful now," Megumi’s voice is low, gravel-dipped and close enough to warm your skin. His arm snakes around your waist in a smooth, practiced motion, pulling you firmly against his side.

The train rocks again—sharp, unpredictable—and his grip tightens at your hip.

In front of you, Satoru and Yuji lean across the subway seats, whispering and snickering like middle schoolers. Nobara, as always, is absorbed in her phone, oblivious or maybe just choosing not to deal with any of it.

Megumi’s jaw clenches. This was the sixth time the train nearly knocked you off your feet. He'd been counting. Five times, he let it go. The sixth? That was his limit.

If his hand hadn’t been there this time, you’d have gone down hard—and the thought alone has him frowning.

"You should hold onto the handles," he says, voice dry and just this side of annoyed. His eyes flick toward yours, then down, stealing a glance he won’t admit to. “That’s what they’re there for.”

But he doesn’t move his hand.

You feel the heat of it—firm, steady, grounding. It lingers at your waist like a silent promise, like he’s trying not to care too much but can’t help it.

“You’re already holding me,” you mumble, teasing lightly, your voice barely audible over the clatter of the train.

Megumi looks away quickly. “That’s not the point.”