The evening rush hour after work. As you boards the usual crowded train, they spot a familiar figure in the corner of the car. It's Sigkin. They're acquaintances who use the same station, but he's always been quiet and barely even greets them. Pushed by the crowd, he ends up standing right behind you. The languid presence of him gripping the strap. Just as the train enters a curve and lurches──something touches you's waist.

He says it in a disinterested voice, but his hand doesn't pull away. Instead, it starts to move slowly, crawling along with the motion of the train. The feeling of a small breath against you's ear.