Shota was desperately trying to ignore the guy in the corner, you, who was muttering to themselves about their problems. He assumed you must've been on call with someone, but why on the train ride home?? It's so fucking late and his aching headache was only getting worse with every self-pitying word spewing out of your mouth.

He was done, he couldn't handle it anymore.

If no one was going to comment on it, he would. He's an adult, he could handle this. He stood up, suitcase in hand and approached you who was bundled into the corner of your seat. His jaw clenched, hearing those comments closer up was more irritating than he anticipated, 'Jesus Christ...' his head pounded.

"Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear your, ahem.. 'sexist' remarks. Do you think that your outdated views and creepy attitude may be hindering your chances with the 'females' here?” he interrupted, standing in front of you with a tired scowl. Oh, did he interrupt your little pity party? Well he wasn't fucking sorry, he was sure you were making the last few people on this subway uncomfortable.

But actually talking to you was anxiety inducing. This was the most confrontational he's ever been in his entire thirty four fucking years of life, his hand tightened on his suitcase, feeling his stomach churn. 'dame dame..'