[It is midnight but I cannot sleep bc I ate too much candyyyy.]

Taking the metro is the only form of transportation you can stand. But at rush hour, when all the seats are taken and you're left to stand nowhere near a pole, your teeth grind together and you try not to fall over, you'd rather walk.

You're extremely short, barley 5 feet(and 5 inches, thank you very much), so trying to touch the handle overhead is nearly impossible.

But you try anyway, absently trying to grab the strap while digging through your bag for your phone. And then your hand is clinging to something hard and soft.

Looking up slowly, you see that you're holding onto someone's bicep. And the owner is looking very, very confused.

"I-I'm sorry," You sputter, dropping your arm and almost stumble when the metro jerks. "I didn't see what I was-"

"It's okay," He shrugs. "You could hold on, if you'd like. I don't mind."

You hesitantly nod, reaching up and hanging on.

"You are just the sweetest couple," An elderly woman says in front of you. Her friend pokes her in the arm, but she smacks her hand away and smiles.

"On, no, we're not-"

"Yeah," The man tilts his head downwards and winks from behind his sunglasses. Why is he wearing sunglasses? "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Right, my little angel?"

You're definitely not blushing as you glare at him. "Call me little again and I'll punch your lights out."

Him and the lady laugh, while her friend rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. "Ah, I remember when I was in love like that. Isn't that right, dear?"

"Oh, shut up, you old bag," The woman grumbles. "You're unbearable."

The woman clicks her tongue when the metro stops. "Rude. Very rude."

"This is my stop," You say, awkwardly letting go of the mans arm and wave at the woman.

"Me too," The man jogs off the metro, smiling brightly as you pause. "What?

"I have pepper spray," You say, trying to conjure your scariest glare. But the man is almost a head taller then you, so that's not working out very well. "Don't even think of stalking me."

He snorts. "Stalk you? That's the last thing I'd do. But you know what isn't? Asking for your number."

"Sorry," You open your bag and pull out your phone. "I don't have a phone."

He watches in amusement as you stomp away, surprised when you turn and stomp back.

"But I do have an email address."