yeah that song

Your eyes flutter half open at the noise, hair a mess. “...Huh?”

“Don’t ‘huh’ me!” He says, pointing an accusatory finger. “You cheated!”

Your brain takes a full five seconds to process that. “...What?”

“I saw you! You were talking to another man!”

You blink at him. “Satoru,” you say slowly, “were you dreaming?”

He hesitates. “...Maybe. But that’s not the point!”

“Oh no, it’s definitely the point.” You say, sitting up now, squinting. “You were dreaming of a man while I’m right here?”

His mouth drops open. “Wait, what? No, I-”

“YOU were dreaming of a man...” Your eyes widen dramatically, as if the realisation just hit you like a truck. “Satoru... are you... gay?”

“What?! No!”

“You don’t want me anymore, is that it? You’re dreaming about men now? Was it-” You gasp loudly “- was it Suguru? I knew it! I knew you had something for him-!” You snap your fingers.

He looks personally attacked. “WHAT?! No, baby, he’s my friend!”

“Oh my god.” You whisper, lips quivering. “You wanna go be his boyfriend and leave me all alone, don’t you?”

He scrambles, eyes wide as he moves to cradle your face reasuringly. “No no no, baby, I would never! I love you. Only you. Please, believe me-”

You stare at him for a long, dramatic second. Then you smile as sweet as an angel, dropping the act. “Oh okay, baby. I believe you. Goodnight.”

You flop back down, tug the blanket up, and close your eyes like nothing happened.

Satoru exhales out a sigh. “Thank god.” He mumbles, relieved to have made it out of that alive, before settling back beside you. “Goodnight, baby.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up just slightly. A few seconds of silence. Then:

“…Wait a second.”

You burst out laughing.

satoru hears the same scolding coming from his parents later that evening.

“we did not pay the school to allow you to enter just for you to pull this—“

“you guys paid the school?” satoru’s brow shot up.

“oh my god.” his mother whispered under her breath, moving her hands away from her husband's shoulders. “you really think they’d allow you to enter with that high school transcript?” mr. gojo gritted out. “you have exactly two months to get them up before the end of the year.”

frat boy! gojo hummed then shrugged. “Shucks, guess there’s nothing I can do. how about I just drop out and take over the company like you’ve always wanted me to.” 

“satoru gojo.” the man’s voice boomed throughout the kitchen. he pointed a finger at Satoru, gritting his teeth. “you will finish college and you will pass.” 

satoru’s groan was muffled by his hand that dragged down his face. “I know.” 

“no! you do not!” 

“alright, honey, calm down.” mrs. gojo placed her hand on his back, rubbing it to prevent him from screaming more. she turned to face satoru. “I will hire you a tutor, sweetheart. your father is right, you have to finish school. then we will talk about you overtaking the company.” 

“alright.” he sighed. 

“two months.” his father raised two digits up. 

frat boy! gojo didn’t expect his tutor to be this pretty. the second you walked into the living room where him and his mother sat, his eyes lit up. you sat down on the couch the maid directed you to, flattening down your skirt as you took in your surroundings.

“hi honey, it’s nice to see that you made it.” mrs. gojo reached out to shake your hand which you happily complied. she turned towards satoru. “this is my son. i’m sure you guys attend the same university, no?”

frat boy! gojo wants to groan at the whole situation. great, not only was he being forced to get extra help but the help is coming from another school mate.

you’ve seen him around sometimes. usually with his hand squeezing a sorority girl’s ass or driving way too fast in the parking lot. 

“mhm.” 

“Have you ever tutored anyone before?” She asked.

“uh.. yeah.” you blinked, composing yourself again. “my younger brother. he has a hard time grasping math so-”

“great.” the woman interrupted. “how often will you be available?” 

“I guess almost every day-” 

“4 pm after school, weekends at 1.” 

you bit the inside of your cheek, becoming frustrated at the fact you could barely finish your sentence. “I take care of my brother on weekends.” 

“oh.” she paused. “you can just bring him along then.” she cleared her throat, continuing. “the pay will be good, I can promise that. I expect you to bring satoru’s grades up before December.” 

you nodded. 

“when will I start?” 

“right now.” 

frat boy! gojo froze. “right now? i’ve got something going on in the frat in half an hour!” he quickly shut up with the look his mother shot him.

despite never interacting with satoru, unless you count that one time he almost ran you over, you knew how unapproachable he was. If you weren’t what he perceived as hot, he wouldn’t bat an eye at you. luckily for you, you're somewhat his type...

“i hope you two get along. Well, I got to get going now. your father is waiting for me. happy studying.” she kissed satoru on the cheek, grabbing her purse to leave. 

the door shut, leaving the two of you. 

you rocked back and forth on your heels as satoru clicked away at his phone, probably texting his friends how his mom actually got him a tutor. “so, um, what classes are you having trouble with.” 

frat boy! gojo exhaled deeply, almost annoyed you even dared speak to him. “biology, mostly.” 

“oh! i'm also taking that right now as well.” you sat down on the seats surrounding the kitchen island. “are we in the same period?” 

“don’t know. It’s a pretty big class.” he stated the obvious, sitting down as well. “how long is this going to last? I’ve got a party to plan.” 

of course he did. “shouldn’t take longer than two hours I think.” 

he groaned. “seriously?” 

“well, we can try and finish in an hour and a half. let’s just start with the basics of biology. do you have your textbooks?” 

satoru sat straight up, suddenly looking suspiciously happy. “yes, I do. they’re upstairs. I’ll be back.” he excused himself, running up to his room.  You tapped your fingers on the island, waiting patiently for a couple of seconds. 

Then the seconds turned to minutes. 

frat boy! gojo had escaped his room, jumping out his window, breaking his fall with a pile of bushes that were put underneath. he had to attend the frat meeting.

safe to say, he got a good scolding once again when he got home.

“When I tell you that you need to raise those grades up, I mean it, Satoru!” Mr. Gojo’s voice echoed throughout the living room. 

You were sat next to Mrs. Gojo on the couch while he and Satoru were standing with the white haired boy getting lectured by his father. 

He cowered. This was so embarrassing. 

“The frat needed me at that moment.” Satoru explained.

“I don’t care! Your mother hired this lovely girl to help you out and you disrespected her by leaving her!”

You wanted to sink into the cushions when Satoru glared at you. 

“You pull this shit again, I force you to leave that stupid frat of yours. You are not a teenager anymore, you are a goddamn adult. Act like it.” 

Mr.Gojo left the room fuming, heading to his office. 

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife and the silence was way too loud. You cleared your throat, slowly standing up. “I should uh, get going.” 

Mrs. Gojo nodded, rising from her spot as well. She planted her hand on the small of your waist, turning to her son. 

“Walk her to her car.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary-” You tried to say. 

“And you apologize to her.” Her tone was stern. 

frat boy! gojo rubbed the bridge of his nose, motioning for you to follow him to the entrance. Neither of you said anything on your little walk. 

Eventually you reached your car. He looked like he was about to say anything. But he didn’t. Not a goodbye nor the apology his mom asked him to say. 

“Asshole.” You mumbled under your breath, giving his muscular back a glare. 

The next day wasn’t any better. 

He’d ignore you, sigh dramatically, and roll his eyes like a spoiled teenager every time you asked if he could do a question. 

“Okay,” You skimmed through his written response. “This isn’t quite right, Satoru.” 

“You don’t get to call me by my first name.” 

Now it was your turn to resist rolling your eyes. “Try again.”

He snatched the paper from your hands rudely, erasing his original answer. This routine continued. Satoru would constantly give you a hard time, refusing to communicate with you properly. The cycle continued until one day, you studied up in his room instead of in the kitchen.

frat boy! gojo stared at you with an annoyed expression on his face. Have you not taken the hint that you were not wanted nor needed here?

“Back again I see.” His voice came from behind, staring daggers into your skull.

You turned around in the spinny chair, facing him. “Well, I am being paid to be here so yes, I am back, again.” 

Satoru scoffed, sitting down on the empty seat next to you. 

On the kitchen island were all kinds of papers and textbooks, all spread out and ready to be used. Doing all of this on a Saturday night was insane. He could be out partying right now, getting drunk off his mind. 

“I have made it pretty clear what I think of you.” 

“What you think of me does not matter. I’m not doing all of this because I care for your grade or I like you. I despise you actually,” Satoru felt his ego get bruised at that. “I was hired by your mother so unless she decides she doesn’t want me tutoring an ungrateful brat like you, I’m not going anywhere.” You shot back. “Now, turn to page 19, I expect you to be finished with chapter two by the end of today's session.” 

Satoru’s eyes widened, completely surprised with you snapping at him. He judged wrong. 

You weren’t a shy nerd he could just push around, you had some bite. 

And he liked it. 

His hands began moving by themselves at your order, opening up his book while fighting back a smile. 

thats because it was the beginning of his little crush on you.

frat boy! gojo stopped making you two study in the kitchen and instead offered to go up into his bedroom instead.

“Didn’t take you for a geek.” Your eyes traveled throughout his room, taking in the shelves full of figures and manga. His walls were full of posters, not leaving one bare. 

Satoru let out a breathy laugh, scratching the back of his head. 

“Guilty pleasures.” 

You hummed, sitting down on his bed. 

He bit back a groan, finding himself somehow getting turned on by you being in his room, let alone on his bed. 

“Oh, my brother watched this one.” You pointed at the Digimon figure on his nightstand. “Yeah?” He eventually joined you, scooting close. “Kids got good taste then.” His eyes flickered down to your lips, gulping. 

You turned to face him, taking notice of his attention being on your lips. 

“Got that one at..” Satoru mumbled quietly, itching closer. “At the.. Fuck.” He placed his lips gently against yours, angling his head to the side. 

You immediately melted into the kiss, putting your hand on his cheek. 

“You’re a good kisser for a virgin.” He licked your bottom lip, seeking entrance. 

“I’m not a virgin…” 

“No?” Satoru moaned when you granted his access, tongue dancing with yours before exploring every inch of your mouth. “

frat boy! gojo swears the kiss meant nothing. that he was just going through ovulation, even though boys don't go through that. so why does his heart keep going mile per hour at the memory of your soft lips on his?

nothing more happened than that, immediately after, you two went back to studying. but he oh so wanted to taste you in other places.

frat boy! gojo starts doing much better on quizzes thanks to you. you were so patient with him even when he repeatedly got things wrong. you started sitting on his lap to get him to focus more.

"every time you get something correct, I'll let you kiss me.

and he was on a streak. he answered questions quickly, pressing his lips on yours in a sweet peck before asking for the next question.

frat boy! gojo swears he isn't in love with you, but his frat bro's would beg to differ. they took notice of his change of attitude and lack of participating in frat meetings.

GETO

you coming tonight? we're gonna go out & drink

GOJO

nah, im busy

GETO

w ur tutor gf?

seen

frat boy! gojo blushed at the idea of calling you his girlfriend. what exactly were you anyways? study partners with benefits? he would feel the way you'd grow wet when you sat on his lap, he knew you wanted more just like him.

even when he did attend the sorority girls parties, the feeling of another girl feeling him up didn't hit the same. they weren't you.

"satoruuuu.." the blonde slurred out, drunk out of her mind and grinding her heat on his thigh. "let's go up to my room. I miss you."

"Uhhh," he looked around, trying to find a nearby exit. "Alright, let me go get a drink real quick and I'll meet you upstairs."

a smile broke out on the girls face, nodding. "okay!"

long story short, he didn't go upstairs.

frat boy! gojo still jerks off daily. but instead of pulling up pornhub or twitter, he pulled out your instagram profile that he had found a week ago - without your knowledge.

nothing got him off anymore unless it was you.

the little photos you had posted up were practically burned onto his phones screen form how much he's viewed them. "fuck, fuck!" he winced when his dick twitched in his hand.

you looked so beautiful today, with your plaid skirt and cute top. he wanted to rip it off your body and fuck you already.

frat boy! gojo still swears on everything that he isn't in love with you! but he's going out before study hours to get you and your mom a bouquet of flowers before heading to your house.

"you always come here, but I've never seen your place." he once commented.

"ah, well," you leaned back onto his chest. "it's not as luxurious as yours."

"you think I care?" he placed his chin on your shoulder, biting lightly at your neck. "do you like that?" he asked, rubbing his hand on the inner of your thigh.

"y-yeah.."

frat boy! gojo got along with your family right off the bat, sitting next to you on the dinner table, chatting with your brother as you all ate. he wished that this was a regular occurrence. would it be if he was yours?

he still swears he isn't in love with you when your mom showed him a baby album of yours.

"oh my god-" you tried snatching it from his hands, but failed.

"you're so cute, look at you." he showed a picture of you riding a pony. you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, hiding away behind your hands.

frat boy! gojo SWEARS he isn't in love with you, but when you asked him to stay the night, he agreed. He laid bare next to you, arms around your body, still placing kisses on your back.

"I love you." you whispered softly.

satoru smiled, bringing you closer to whisper back into your ear.

"I love you too."

frat boy! gojo accepts the fact that he's loved you ever since you stepped foot into his life.

​Satoru Gojo didn't even pause to wait for an answer, dropping a stack of heavily redacted, coffee-stained files onto your already cluttered desk. His iconic blindfold was pushed up, a devastatingly charming smile plastered across his face—the kind of smile that made it entirely impossible for anyone to refuse him.

​Your head was pounding. A dull, rhythmic thud echoed right behind your eyes, a souvenir from a consecutive string of sleepless nights. You had your own reports to file, a history exam to help Yuji study for, and Nobara had explicitly told you to be ready in twenty minutes to carry her bags through Shibuya. Your throat tightened, the word no forming perfectly on your tongue.

It was right there. All you had to do was push it past your teeth.

​"Of course, Sensei," you heard yourself say, the voice sounding entirely detached from your own body. "I'll have them on Principal Yaga's desk by three."

​"Knew I could count on you!" He gave you a cheerful salute and vanished in a blur of limitless space, leaving you staring at the mountain of paperwork. You swallowed the sigh building in your chest, picked up your pen, and started writing.

This was simply how you survived. You made yourself a skeleton key, filing down your own edges, your own needs, and your own exhaustion until you perfectly fit the lock of whatever anyone else required. If you were useful, if you were accommodating, if you smoothed out the friction in the lives of the people around you, they would never look at you and decide you were too much trouble to keep around, that's how it should be, right?

​But nowhere was this exhausting performance more prevalent than in your relationship with Megumi Fushiguro.

Megumi with his quiet nature, Megumi with his storm-clouded eyes, Megumi who shouldered so much— with Tsumiki's curse, with the expectations of having a powerful cursed technique, Megumi who you were so so so afraid of losing.

You still have a hard time believing you two are dating. The way it happened was so casual it almost felt unreal.

It wasn’t a grand confession, just a quiet surrender to everything that made you fall for him. The hallway was still buzzing with leftover energy from Yuji’s and Nobara’s laughter, but at your door, the silence felt heavy. Megumi lingered, hands shoved in his pockets, before his fingers grazed your wrist as you were about open the door. When he leaned in, it was with the soft gentleness of someone who had finally found a place to let his guard down. The kiss was brief, but you both knew exactly where you stood in each other's lives.

Yet, being his partner did not cure your affliction; it magnified it even further. You treated your relationship like fragile glass sculpture you had to constantly balance on your fingertips. You altered your entire existence to fit the mold of what you assumed was his ideal, low-maintenance partner.

You drank your tea unsweetened because he preferred bitter things, forcing the astringent liquid down your throat every morning while secretly craving sugar. You slept rigidly on the absolute edge of his mattress, your muscles cramping by dawn, just to ensure he had the lion’s share of the blankets. When he was exhausted from a mission, you swallowed your own awful, lingering trauma from the day, hiding your bruises beneath long sleeves and painting a bright, serene smile on your face so you wouldn’t add to his mental load.

And Megumi knew.

He was incredibly perceptive, and the forced perfection of your behavior was beginning to wear on him like coarse grit against his skin. He saw the way your hands shook when you agreed to take a double patrol shift. He noticed the barely perceptible flinch when he absentmindedly turned the television to a channel you secretly hated, only for you to vehemently agree that it was a great program to watch. It frustrated him.

Megumi loved you, he loved you so much it pained him, but he felt like he was dating a shadow, only moving when he did. And he did not know how to bring it up without fearing for what you would do.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The mission was supposed to be a standard Grade 2 curse eradication in an abandoned subway terminal. It was a joint assignment for the two of you, a rare opportunity to work together. But the intelligence from the auxiliary managers was flawed, as it so often was. The curse was a Grade 1, a massive, grotesque amalgamation of rusted metal and rotting flesh that moved with terrifying speed.

The battle was chaotic in the claustrophobic underground tunnels. Dust choked the air, illuminated only by the flickering, dying fluorescent lights overhead. Megumi had summoned Nue to provide aerial attacks, the electrical discharge illuminating the grim determination on his face. You were covering his blind spots, your own cursed energy manifesting in sharp and precise strikes.

It happened in a fraction of a second. The curse, recognizing Megumi as the greater threat, lunged toward him with a massive, scythe-like appendage. Megumi was mid-incantation, his hands clasped together, momentarily vulnerable.

Your body moved before your conscious mind could register the decision. The ingrained instinct to protect, to serve, to sacrifice, propelled you forward. You shoved Megumi hard, knocking him out of the trajectory of the blade.

The impact was deafening. The rusted metal sliced through the air and tore into your left side, ripping through your uniform and biting deep into the flesh of your waist. The agony was instantaneous, a blinding flare of white-hot pain that stole the oxygen from your lungs. You hit the concrete floor hard, the taste of copper flooding your mouth.

"Nue!" Megumi roared, his voice cracking with a rare, raw panic. The shikigami descended in a blinding flash of lightning, obliterating the curse in a concussive shockwave of cursed energy.

The dust settled, heavy and silent.

Megumi was beside you in an instant, his breathing ragged, his hands hovering over you as if afraid that touching you would shatter you completely. "Are you alright? Where did it hit you?" His eyes were wide, the usual cold indifference entirely stripped away, revealing the terrified boy underneath.

The pain in your side was excruciating, a throbbing, burning sensation that suggested the curse’s rusted blade had been laced with some kind of venomous energy. Blood was already soaking the fabric of your shirt, hot and sticky against your skin. You needed Shoko. You needed a stretcher.

But as you looked up into Megumi’s panic-stricken eyes, the old, familiar terror clawed at your throat. You caused this panic. You are making him worry. You ruined the mission. You are a burden.

The people pleaser within you seized the reins of your vocal cords.

You forced the agony down, burying it beneath a mountain of sheer, desperate willpower. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, twisting your torso to hide the worst of the bleeding from his line of sight. You plastered on a smile that felt like it might crack your face in two.

"I'm fine," you lied, your voice painfully steady. "It just grazed me. I knocked the wind out of myself when I fell."

Megumi frowned, his dark brows knitting together in suspicion. He reached out to inspect your side, but you swiftly shifted away, standing up on shaking legs. The world tilted dangerously, black spots dancing in your peripheral vision, but you dug your nails into your palms to ground yourself.

"I swear, Megumi. I'm okay. Let's just report and go home. I'm exhausted." You kept your tone light, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry I got in your way. I should have been more careful."

The apology tasted vile. You had saved his life, yet you were apologizing for being in the way.

Megumi stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. The tension radiating from him was evident, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He knew you were hiding something. He could smell the blood. But your adamant refusal to acknowledge the danger built a wall between you that he didn't know how to breach, yet he trusted your judgment, he trusted that you would tell him if the injury was serious.

"Fine," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, thick with frustration and repressed anxiety. He recalled his shikigami, the shadows swallowing Nue whole. "Let's go."

The car ride back to the college was nothing less than silent torture. You sat pressed against the passenger door, your arms wrapped tightly around your waist, secretly applying pressure to the wound that was continuously oozing blood. Every bump in the road sent a jolt of agony up your spine, but you bit the inside of your cheek until it bled rather than make a single sound. Ijichi drove in stony silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, every now and then apologising for the mistake in the mission logs, and then expressing his relief at your well-being.

By the time you reached the dormitories, you were running purely on adrenaline and the need to lock yourself in your bathroom before you collapsed.

"I'm going to take a shower!" you announced the moment you stepped into his room, your voice breathy and strained. You didn't wait for a response, practically fleeing into the adjoining bathroom and closing the door behind you.

The moment it was locked, the facade crumbled. Your knees gave out, and you slumped against the cold tile door, an agonizing gasp escaping your lips. You peeled off your ruined jacket and the blood-soaked shirt beneath it. The wound was horrific. An angry tear across your oblique, the edges blackened with residual cursed energy. It was deep, bleeding sluggishly but persistently.

Tears of pain and exhaustion finally spilled over your eyelashes, tracing hot paths down your dust-streaked cheeks. You had to clean it. You had to wrap it. You couldn't bother Shoko this late; she had been pulling all-nighters all week. You couldn't bother Megumi; he was already mad at you.

You dragged yourself to the sink, turning on the faucet. You grabbed a washcloth, soaked it in hot water, and pressed it against the wound.

A choked, pathetic sob tore from your throat. The pain was blinding, a sickening wave of nausea crashing over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body trembling violently as you tried to scrub away the blackened, infected tissue.

Click.

You froze. The sound of the lock turning from the outside. You had forgotten Megumi kept a spare key on the upper frame of the door for emergencies.

The door swung open, revealing Megumi standing in the threshold. He had changed out of his uniform, wearing only a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked exhausted.

But whatever exhaustion he felt vanished the instant his eyes landed on you.

He took in the scene in a fraction of a second: your pale, shivering form hunched over the sink, the blood-soaked washcloth in your trembling hand, and the gruesome, gaping wound on your side that was currently dripping crimson onto the pristine white tiles.

The air in the bathroom seemed to drop ten degrees. The shadows in the corners of the room physically writhed, reacting to the sudden, violent spike in his cursed energy.

"What," Megumi breathed, his voice barely a whisper, yet it resonated with the force of an earthquake, "is that."

Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your veins. You scrambled to cover the wound with your arm, backing away from him like a cornered animal, your eyes wide and terrified.

"It's nothing!" you stammered, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a desperate rush. "I was just cleaning it. It looks worse than it is, Megumi, I promise. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make a mess. I'll clean the floor, just—"

"Stop."

The command cracked through the air like a whip. Megumi stepped into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him. His face was a mask of cold fury, but his eyes—his deep, beautiful, stormy eyes—were wide with an emotion that looked terrifyingly like devastation.

He crossed the small space in two strides, grabbing your wrists. His grip was firm, inescapable, but agonizingly gentle as he pulled your hands away from your side. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as he finally got a clear look at the injury.

"You call this a graze?" he demanded, his voice shaking with a terrifying, suppressed rage. "It's entirely infected with cursed energy. You need reverse cursed technique, immediately. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say anything in the tunnel?"

Your chest heaved as you struggled to pull oxygen into your lungs. The panic was taking over, suffocating you. You were trapped. You had failed. You had made him angry. You had become the burden you fought so hard not to be.

"I—I didn't want to worry you," you choked out, fresh tears welling in your eyes. "You were already stressed about the mission being a Grade 1. I didn't want to slow us down. I'm sorry, Megumi. I'm so, so sorry. Please don't be mad. I can fix it, I'll go to Shoko right now, you don't have to deal with this—"

"Stop apologizing!" Megumi yelled.

You flinched violently, your shoulders instantly hiking up to your ears, your head bowing in an automatic posture of submission. The silence that followed his shout was deafening, broken only by your ragged, hyperventilating breaths and the steady drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the floor.

Megumi stared at your cowering form, the anger draining out of him in a rush, leaving behind a profound, hollow ache in his chest. He realized, with a horrifying clarity, that you were not flinching because of the pain of your wound. You were flinching because of him.

He dropped your wrists as if they burned him, taking a step back, his hands taking place behind his neck.

"Why do you do this?" he asked, his voice cracking, the anger replaced by a desperate, agonizing confusion. "Why do you lie to me? Why do you let yourself bleed out in a bathroom rather than ask me for help? Am I that unapproachable? Am I that terrible of a boyfriend that you think I would be annoyed by you almost dying?"

"No!" you cried, your voice breaking, the absolute terror of him thinking he was at fault tearing at your heart. "No, Megumi, you're perfect. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. It's not you, it's me. I'm just… I'm just trying to be good. I'm trying to be easy. I don't want to be difficult."

"Easy?" Megumi repeated, the word sounding foreign and ugly in his mouth. He stepped forward again, crowding you against the edge of the sink, his hands gripping the porcelain on either side of your waist, trapping you in. He didn't touch you, but his presence was demanding your full attention.

"You think I want you to be 'easy'?" he pressed, his eyes searching yours frantically, demanding an honesty you didn't know how to give. "I want you to be honest! I want you to tell me when you are hurt so I can take care of you!"

You shook your head furiously, the tears flowing freely now, hot and unrelenting. Your entire body was trembling, your heart hammering against your ribs, threatening to break. You were breaking apart, the foundation of your entire coping mechanism crumbling beneath his gaze.

"You say that now," you sobbed, the ugly, deeply buried truth finally clawing its way up your throat, bitter and raw. "You say that now, but you don't know. You already have so much on your plate, I don't want to make it worse. If I don't do it, you will hate me, I don't want you to hate me."

The confession hung in the humid air of the bathroom, heavy and devastating.

You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the blow. Waiting for the agreement. Waiting for him to step back, to look at you with cold realization, and walk out the door. You had finally revealed the ugly, pathetic core of your soul. You were a coward, terrified of abandonment, buying love with servitude.

But the silence stretched. And then, you felt it.

The gentle, hesitant brush of his knuckles against your tear-soaked cheek.

Your eyes flew open. Megumi was looking at you with an expression that shattered your heart into a million irreparable pieces. It wasn't pity. It wasn't disgust, but heartbreak. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted as he struggled to find words that could possibly combat the magnitude of your self-hatred.

Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild, frightened animal, Megumi reached out. He didn't grab your wrists this time. He slid his arms around your waist, mindful of the gaping wound on your side, and pulled you flush against his chest.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin.

"You are so stupid," he whispered, the words muffled against your skin, devoid of any malice, dripping only with a desperate, heavy sorrow. "You are an incredible person, so beautiful, so incredible, but stupid."

You stiffened, your hands hovering uselessly in the air, terrified to touch him, terrified to ruin this moment. But Megumi just held you tighter, his strong arms wrapping around you like a shield against the very demons inside your own head.

"Listen to me," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. He pulled back just enough to force you to look him in the eye. The intensity of his gaze pinned you in place."Stop acting like your existence doesn't matter, it matters to me. You don't get to decide that you're expendable."

You let out a choked gasp, your hands finally, tentatively coming to rest against his chest, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt like your life depended on it.

"I care about you, so much," Megumi continued, his voice dropping into that serious, unwavering tone he used when making vows. "I care about protecting the people who matter to me. And you… you are at the very top of that list. If you are hurt, my world stops. If you are in pain, I am in pain. Hiding your suffering from me doesn't protect me; it destroys me."

He raised a hand, his thumb gently wiping away the steady stream of tears falling from your eyes. His touch was warm, grounding.

"You are not a burden," he said, enunciating each word with fierce, desperate clarity. "And I am begging you, please… let me take care of you. Let me be the one who carries the weight for a while. You don't have to earn your place beside me by bleeding in silence. In fact, you don't have to do anything but be here."

You broke down.

You collapsed against him, your legs finally giving out, and he caught you effortlessly, sinking to the bathroom floor with you held securely in his arms.

You wept. You wailed. It was an ugly, guttural, heart-wrenching sound that tore from the very depths of your soul. You buried your face in his chest, clutching at him desperately, crying for the pain in your side, crying for the exhaustion in your bones, crying for the terrified little child inside you who had spent their whole life terrified of being left behind.

Megumi didn't shush you. He didn't tell you to calm down. He sat on the cold tile floor amidst the blood and the discarded bandages, holding you. He rocked you slowly, one hand gently stroking your hair, the other resting firmly against your back. He let you fall apart completely, creating a safe, impenetrable fortress within his arms where you were finally allowed to be shattered, loud, and inconvenient.

Hours seemed to pass before the sobs finally subsided into heavy, exhausted hiccups. Your throat was raw, your eyes swollen and burning. The adrenaline had completely left your system, leaving you weak and painfully aware of the throbbing agony in your side.

You shifted slightly in his lap, sniffing pathetically. Megumi immediately loosened his grip, looking down at you with a softness that made your chest ache.

"Are you done?" he asked quietly, a tiny, sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You nodded numbly, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "I ruined your shirt," you rasped, noticing the dark stains of your tears and blood on the grey fabric.

"I don't care about the shirt," Megumi said softly. He gently shifted you off his lap, standing up and reaching down to help you to your feet. You swayed dangerously, the blood loss finally catching up to you. He caught you around the waist, easily supporting your weight.

"Come on," he murmured, his voice gentle but brook-no-argument firm. "We are going to Shoko. Right now."

The instinct to protest flared up instantly. It's 3 AM. She's sleeping. I can just bandage it tight. But as you looked up at Megumi, at the deep circles under his eyes and the lingering terror in his posture, the words died in your throat.

You swallowed hard, the word feeling foreign and incredibly heavy on your tongue.

"Okay."

Megumi let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. He didn't say anything, but the relief in his eyes was blinding. He practically carried you down the silent, moonlit hallways to the infirmary.

Shoko was awake, smoking a cigarette out the window when Megumi kicked the infirmary door open. She took one look at Megumi’s pale face and the blood soaking your side and immediately crushed the cigarette, immediately tending to you.

The process of healing was agonizing. Shoko’s reverse cursed technique was a miracle, but extracting the foreign cursed energy from the wound before healing the flesh was a torturous sensation. You lay on the sterile white cot, your teeth gritted, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead.

Through it all, Megumi sat beside the bed. He held your hand in both of his, his grip tight enough to bruise, grounding you in reality while the pain threatened to pull you under. He didn't look away, even when the wound looked its most gruesome. He stayed exactly where he promised he would be.

When it was finally over, and the flesh was knit cleanly together leaving only an angry pink scar, exhaustion hit you like a physical blow. Shoko handed you a clean t-shirt and kicked you both out, muttering something about needing sleep.

The walk back to Megumi’s dorm was slow. You leaned heavily against him, your body utterly drained. You felt hollowed out, incredibly fragile, like a glass blown too thin.

When you reached his room, he didn't turn on the overhead lights. He guided you gently to the bed, pulling back the heavy comforter. You crawled in automatically, immediately scooting to the absolute edge of the mattress, curling into a tight ball. It was muscle memory at this point.

Megumi stood at the edge of the bed, watching you in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds. He sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound. He kicked off his shoes, discarded his ruined shirt, and climbed into the bed.

But he didn't lie down on his side.

Instead, he moved to the center of the mattress. He reached out, grabbing you gently by the hips, and physically dragged you away from the edge, pulling you across the sheets until you were flush against him in the very middle of the bed.

You gasped softly in surprise, stiffening. "Megumi—"

"Stop," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your hair. He tangled his legs with yours, pinning you to him, ensuring there was no physical way for you to retreat to the cold periphery. "You are exactly where you belong. Take up the whole bed if you want. Kick me out if you want. But stop going all the way there."

You lay rigid in his arms for a long moment, your brain struggling to process the sensation of being held so securely, of being allowed to take up space without apologizing for it. The warmth of his body seeped into your cold skin. His heartbeat thudded steadily against your back, a rhythmic, grounding lullaby.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, you forced your muscles to uncoil. You let out a long, shaky breath, letting your weight sink fully into his embrace. You closed your eyes, his scent surrounding you, pulling you down into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, you woke to the smell of brewing coffee and the sound of birds chirping outside the window. The sunlight streaming into the room felt unnervingly bright.

You sat up slowly, testing the newly healed skin on your side. It twinged slightly, a dull ache, but the agonizing burn was gone. You looked around the room. You were alone in the bed, the covers tangled around your waist. You were dead center in the mattress.

The door to the small kitchenette opened, and Megumi stepped in, carrying two mugs. He looked rested, his dark hair a chaotic mess, his eyes softer than you had seen them in months.

He walked over to the bed and handed you a mug.

"Morning," he mumbled quietly, sitting on the edge of the mattress near your feet.

"Morning," you replied softly, your voice still gravelly from crying the night before. You wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic mug, seeking comfort in the heat. You brought it to your lips, taking a tentative sip.

You immediately paused, your brow furrowing in confusion.

It wasn't black coffee. It wasn't the bitter, acidic brew he drank every morning. It was warm milk, steeped heavily with a sweet, floral chamomile tea, and generously laced with honey. It was incredibly sweet. It was exactly what you actually liked.

You lowered the mug, staring at the golden liquid, a sudden lump forming in your throat. You looked up at Megumi. He was watching you carefully, his dark eyes analyzing your reaction.

"You didn't make coffee," you whispered, stating the obvious.

Megumi looked down at his own mug, taking a sip of the black sludge he preferred. "I know you hate it," he said simply, not meeting your eyes. A faint, barely perceptible pink dusted the tips of his ears. "I noticed a while ago. You always grimace when you take the first sip. And you always buy that sweet stuff when we go to the convenience store, but you never drink it around me."

Your breath hitched. He had noticed. He had known, and he had been waiting for you to say something.

He reached out, his long fingers gently wrapping around your ankle over the blankets.

"I'm not asking you to change everything in one day," Megumi continued, his voice quiet, steady, and infinitely patient. "I know it's a habit. I know you're terrified. But I am asking you to try. With me. Just with me."

He paused, a tiny, teasing glint momentarily breaking through his stoic demeanor. "For example. I was thinking of making eggs for breakfast. But I know you like pancakes, even though you always say eggs are fine. So. What do you want for breakfast?"

It was a test. A small, seemingly insignificant question, but between the two of you, it carried the weight of the world.

The instinct rose up instantly. Eggs are easier for him to make. He likes eggs. Tell him eggs. The familiar panic fluttered in your chest, the fear of demanding too much, of being an inconvenience.

You opened your mouth, the word 'eggs' forming on your lips.

But you stopped. You looked down at the sweet, warm tea in your hands, the tea he had made specifically for you, acknowledging your preferences, honoring your comfort. You looked at the hand resting gently on your ankle, grounding you, keeping you safe. You remembered the desperate way he had held you on the bloody bathroom floor, demanding that you exist loudly.

You closed your mouth. You took a deep breath, fighting the tremor in your voice. You forced yourself to meet his gaze directly.

"I…" you started, your voice barely above a whisper. You cleared your throat, trying again. "I would really like pancakes, Megumi. If that's okay?"

The silence in the room stretched for a single, terrifying second. You braced yourself for a sigh, a roll of the eyes, a sign of annoyance that you had requested the more difficult option.

Instead, Megumi’s face broke into a smile. It wasn't his usual smirk, or a polite curve of the lips. It was a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile that reached his eyes, illuminating his features and making your heart stutter in your chest.

He stood up, taking his mug of bitter coffee with him.

"Pancakes it is," he said softly, turning back toward the kitchen. He paused at the door, looking over his shoulder at you, his eyes filled with a certain amount of serenity that was so rare for megumi.

"And [Name]?"

You looked up, your hands gripping the mug tightly. "Yeah?"

"It's more than okay."