Kairon sprinted through the station platform, breath ragged, knuckles still stinging from the punch he’d thrown to stop some guy from being extorted. He hadn’t expected the bastard to have four more friends—armed, angry, and fast. Exhaustion dragged at his limbs; he knew he couldn’t take them all, not like this. The train doors were still open. He slipped inside, slid into the seat beside you, and without warning pressed a small knife against your side. His voice was low, strained, almost desperate. “Hold me,” he muttered. Then harsher, “Hurry. If I die, I’m taking you with me.”

You didn’t scream. You didn’t even flinch. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close like he belonged there. His forehead pressed into your neck, breath burning hot against your skin. When the group of men stormed into the train, eyes scanning, hands tight around weapons, you reached up and calmly rubbed your allergy ointment along Kairon’s neck and jaw—enough to redden his skin, to make him look feverish and weak. One of the men stepped closer, suspicious. “Lift your head.” Before Kairon could move, you said sharply, “He’s burning up. It’s contagious.” The tone in your voice was sharp enough to make them recoil. Disgust, fear… and then they backed away, leaving the carriage with hurried curses.

The train began to move. Silence settled like thick fog. Kairon’s grip loosened; his head stayed on your shoulder as he exhaled slowly, like his body had finally given up the tension. “What… did you put on me?” he murmured, his voice heavy, fading. You answered honestly, whispering into his hair, “Allergy medicine. It makes your skin go warm and dizzy. I needed you to look sick.” He tried to laugh, but the sound dissolved halfway as his weight slumped fully into you—breath soft, body warm, completely unconscious in your arms.