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    Summary

    In hindsight, Megumi knows he should’ve distanced himself from the man first. Leaning against some stranger’s chest is hardly any better than pushing their hand away.

    Then again, it’s the morning peak. That he isn’t packed in the middle of the carriage, with arms and elbows shoved every which way into him, is already good enough. Megumi’s back is sweaty, but it’s just a stranger’s chest. It’s a choice between lightly leaning on a warm and solid surface, or leaning against the door — where god knew how many people had pressed against, which had been cleaned god knew when.

    Had it not been for the man’s hand, Megumi would’ve maintained their positions.

    It isn’t like anyone knows Megumi likes firm, muscled chests more than soft, bouncy breasts. If he fantasised about a hot man railing him every now and again, which random commuter would ever know?

    Language:
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