"I'm terribly sorry about this."

Another lurching stop, more commuters cramming into the overfilled train. Station workers pushed from outside, pressing suited backs until everyone fit like sardines in first one car, then another. Normally, I wouldn't be caught dead riding the transit line this time of day, trapped with professionals weary from a day at the office.

If not for him, I wouldn't even consider it.

The lessons were going as well as could be expected. Minamino was by no means a natural but he wasn't hopeless, either. Even ducks are graceful in the right environment. He only fell the first day – I lost count of how many times that astonished face stared at me from the floor – but now we needed to get serious. For him to make any meaningful progress I needed to test his skills, present him with a challenge:

That started with good shoes.

"It's not your fault."

I couldn't believe he only had two pairs of shoes: one for work, the other worn-out sneakers I wouldn't show to anyone. He promised he was not destitute; how else could he afford lessons on top of living alone in a big city? Work had been hectic and prevented shopping for anything other than the essentials. I wouldn't listen to his other excuses, declaring we would both buy dancing shoes today.

He had the sense not to argue.

Even now I didn't regret the decision, though our stop couldn't get here fast enough.

One last push assured everyone was on-board, stealing any semblance of personal space. A soft grunt and suddenly I was pressed to Minamino, hands braced against his chest. Somehow, he caught me, arm snaking around my waist though I had no hope of actually falling.

Another murmured apology but I shook my head, noting how the press didn't seem to bother him, grip on the overhead strap cementing us in place. He smiled, radiating calm despite the grumbling pedestrians. I felt myself relax by degrees, sinking into the swell of his chest, the curve of his neck, secure beneath that iron arm. Night and day from the man I first saw reading books in the cafe.

Had he always been this strong?

Movement at my thigh and I stiffened, hissing as meaty fingers slipped beneath my skirt, tracing the skin around my panties.

Minamino dipped his head, smile slipping. "What's wrong?"

I met his whisper with one of my own; it was the only way we could hear each other over all the noise. "Someone's groping me."

Eyes darkening, he glanced over my shoulder, tightening his hold. Not that it helped; everyone was too close. The hand continued on its way, gliding over first one cheek, then the other. I buried my head in his chest not daring to make a sound, wanting the ride to be over. Everything in me wanted to confront the molester, to neuter him with every insult in my arsenal but there was no room. I couldn't move, couldn't even tell who it was. Growing bolder, those fingers tickled the cotton, inching towards–

Suddenly, Minamino made a quarter turn, somehow managing to press my back to the door. The hand disappeared immediately and there was only him, arms braced against the glass on either side of my head.

"Did he stop?"

I nodded, welcoming his soft timbre, those green eyes entirely too close to mine. He offered another smile but didn't pull away, chin resting in my hair. Knees trembling, my head fell against his shoulder, still gripping his shirt. Anger bubbled in my gut; hot tears pricked but I didn't let them fall, humiliation hidden by his red mane. Staring at the impenetrable curtain, I learned to breathe again, fury giving way to something else.

From that day on, I vowed never to make fun of Minamino's hair again.

September 2020 OTP Prompts

Prompt 2 – Cuddling somewhere.