𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 - 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

the subway car rocks gently as it speeds through the underground tunnel, a soft, rhythmic hum vibrating beneath your feet. the air is thick with quiet chatter, the occasional rustling of coats, and the distant crackle of announcements over the intercom. it's late, and the crowd is heavier than usual—people packed close together, shoulders brushing, breaths mingling in the tight space.

you and isagi stand side by side, gripping the same cold metal pole in the center of the car. the dim overhead lighting casts a warm glow on his face, highlighting the soft furrow of his brows as he stares ahead, lost in thought. his navy-blue eyes flicker with something unreadable, something distant—like he's playing out a match in his head, strategizing his next move even though you're nowhere near a field.

another jolt from the subway car sends you shifting slightly, your fingers brushing against his as you adjust your grip.

it's the lightest touch—barely anything. but it sparks like a live wire between you.

neither of you pulls away.

your breath catches for a second, and you chance a glance at him from the corner of your eye. his shoulders tense, his fingers twitch slightly against the pole, but he doesn't let go. he doesn't move.

just an accident, right?

then it happens again.

a slow sway of the train, the gentle rocking, and suddenly his pinky grazes over yours. this time, there's no excuse—no abrupt movement or stumble to justify it. it's deliberate, lingering for just a second longer than it should.

your heart hammers.

isagi is still pretending not to notice, eyes locked on a random ad stuck to the subway wall. but you see the way his lips press together, the way the tips of his ears burn red, the way his fingers flex as if debating whether or not to do something reckless.

the warmth of his skin lingers like a ghost of a touch.

you swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. "you good, isagi?"

his head snaps toward you, eyes wide for just a fraction of a second before he forces a chuckle. "y-yeah, why wouldn't i be?" he clears his throat, but the way his voice comes out just a little too high betrays him.

you raise a brow, lips quirking up slightly. "i dunno. you seem... tense."

he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "just thinking about the game this weekend," he lies, shifting his grip—but not enough to pull away. if anything, his pinky hooks just slightly over yours now, like an unspoken dare.

you could call him out on it. could tease him about how red his face is getting. but you don't.

instead, you let the moment stretch, let the silence settle between you like a secret neither of you is brave enough to speak aloud.

the train slows as it nears the next station, and the sudden deceleration makes you stumble forward. before you can catch yourself, a hand presses against the small of your back, steadying you—firm, reassuring, instinctive.

isagi.

your breath catches. his touch is barely there, just the warmth of his palm against the fabric of your jacket, but it sends something wild racing through your veins.

he swallows hard, shifting closer. "you okay?" his voice is softer now, careful, like he's afraid of breaking the fragile tension between you.

you nod, suddenly hyperaware of the closeness, of the way your bodies lean just slightly toward each other, of the way his fingers—still resting against your back—hesitate, as if reluctant to let go.

"...thanks," you murmur.

neither of you moves. neither of you pulls away.

the train doors hiss open, but neither of you notices. the world outside—the station, the people, the noise—fades into the background, nothing but white noise against the moment stretching between you.

his fingers twitch again, as if fighting the urge to hold on tighter.

as if fighting the urge to hold onto you.

and in the middle of a packed subway car, surrounded by strangers, something unspoken lingers in the air—something fragile, something electric, something inevitable.

neither of you says it.

not yet.

but soon.

𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠