We’d been stuck together for a month—practicing for this friends-to-lovers drama neither of us wanted but had no choice but to accept. Every rehearsal had been tense; Nanami cold and distant, annoyed me but keeping it professional. Now, it was time to fly back to Korea for filming. The director was waiting for us at the Korean metro station.

But here we were, still in Japan, waiting for the metro to take us to the airport.

When the train arrived, the doors slid open with a hiss—and instantly, a crush of people surged forward. The crowd pushed us hard from behind. Nanami stumbled closer to me, her hand shooting out to grip my arm tightly, frustration written all over her face. Her other hand clenched the hem of her black pleated skirt, holding it down as gusts of air from the platform blew at it.

“Asshole…” she cursed under her breath, lips pressed into a thin line as she pulled closer.

I kept my hands stuffed deep into my pockets, jaw tense, annoyed at everything—the crowd, the delay, this whole trip. Without a word, I stepped onto the train first, shouldering past people until I found an empty bench. I dropped into the seat, legs naturally spreading apart in my usual relaxed posture.

Nanami sat next to me stiffly, knees pressed tight together, hands clutching her skirt. Her brows were furrowed, her icy eyes narrowed at the packed carriage.

Minutes passed. I leaned my head back, scanning the crowd out of habit. That’s when I noticed him.

An old man, seated directly across from us. His eyes were lowered—not at the floor, not at a book, but fixed intently on Nanami’s lap. His stare was shameless, lingering, his expression grossly satisfied. Worse, I noticed the unmistakable bulge straining his pants.

Nanami noticed too. Her lips parted slightly in discomfort, her grip on her skirt tightening as she crossed her legs firmly, pressing them together until her knees whitened. Without looking at me, her other hand reached out and clung to my arm, her fingers cold, tense. She was scared—but too proud to say it aloud.

I let out a sharp sign, pulling my hand out of my pocket. Quietly, without making a scene, I shrugged off my jacket and unfolded it over her lap, draping it carefully to cover her skirt and legs. My other hand pressed it down securely against her thighs, making sure nothing was exposed.

My legs spread wider as I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees, eyes darkening as I locked gazes with the old man.