hello ;

you turn around, swiping at your face quickly. the wind catches the back of your neck, making you shiver in your thin hoodie. it takes you a second to place him.

dark hair. dark blue eyes. taller. good-looking in a way that almost sticks with you. you’ve seen him at parties…always in the corner, usually smoking a joint, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. you don’t know his name, but you know the vague details: gets into fights, keeps to himself, runs with the kind of people who are always getting into trouble.

he’s looking at you with a face that’s a total blank, like a steel shutter pulled down over whatever is going through his head. most people would find it intimidating, but if calculus isn't your forte, reading people definitely is.

“oh my god, hi.” you gesture at your car. “my tire’s flat. i literally have like no idea what to do, my phone’s about to die, no one’s answering…it’s like a whole thing. can you like, help? please. i’ll do anything.”

he looks at the tire, then back at you. “you have a spare?”

“um.” you think about it, biting your lip because you’re really not sure. cars are supposed to have spares right? so the chances are pretty high. “probably? i’ve never looked.”

he doesn’t say anything, just walks past you to the back of your car and opens the trunk. you step aside and watch him move your gym bag, a blanket, a bag of trash that you swore you were going to throw away…two months ago. he pulls up the bottom panel and there’s a smaller tire underneath, plus some tools.

“you have one,” he says.

“oh, perfect. i didn’t even know that was in there.”

he’s already pulling things out, crouching near the flat tire with one of the metal tools, and you realize he’s just going to do it. no discussion. no waiting for you to ask.

the night air is biting, making your ears sting, and every time a distant car engine revs, you jump a little. but megumi is like a localized pocket of calm. he doesn't seem to notice the cold or the creepy silence of the campus this late in the evening.

“oh. uhm- thank you so much,” you say. “seriously. you’re like totally saving me right now.”

he doesn’t respond. he’s loosening something on the tire, working fast like he’s done this a hundred times.

you lean against the side of your car and watch him. the parking lot’s quiet, mostly empty except for a few cars scattered near the other buildings. his eyes look focused and you notice how thick his eyelashes are, and the way his dark hair falls across his face as he works.

you should probably let him focus, but silence has never really been your thing.

“i was studying,” you say. “i have a calc test tomorrow and i’m literally going to fail. like, actually fail. my professor’s so bad, he just talks and doesn’t explain anything, and i’ve gone to every class but i still don’t get any of it.”

he pulls the flat tire off and sets it aside. doesn’t look up.

“i’m y/n, by the way. i feel like i’ve seen you around, like at parties and stuff?”

“megumi,” he says, not looking at you.

“megumi.” you repeat it back, testing how it sounds. “that’s cute. i like that.”

he’s putting the spare on now, and you notice his hands. nice hands, actually, kind of unfairly nice, and the way he moves like this is boring to him. easy. like he’s trying to get this over with as fast as he possibly can.

“you don’t talk much, do you?”

“no.”

“that’s okay. i talk enough for two people anyway.” you pull your phone out to check it. 4%. “do you live on campus or off? i’m off, like two miles that way. my roommate’s probably asleep, she has an eight a.m., which like ew, could never be me. i would simply not survive.”

he tightens something, his shoulders shifting under his jacket.

“are you in a frat? wait, no, you’re definitely not in a frat. i don’t know why i asked that. you don’t have the vibe. not in a bad way. just like, you’re kind of—” you wave your hand vaguely. “i don’t know. you don’t look like a douche or whatever. not that all frat guys are douches, like some guys are super cool obviously i hang out with them and—“

he stands up, brushing his hands off on his jeans and cuts you off. “done.”

you look at the tire. it’s on. it looks normal. you have absolutely no idea what he just did, but your car has four functioning tires again and that’s all that matters.

“oh my god, thank you. seriously. that was so fast. do you just know how to do that? like, is that a thing people know?”

he’s putting the flat tire and the tools back in your trunk, and when he reaches past you to toss the jack in, you catch the scent of him…cold air, laundry detergent, and a faint, earthy trace of something like sandalwood. for a split second, the space between you felt very small, and very warm. but then you look up, making the briefest eye contact with him, and you can tell he’s about to leave. just fix it and disappear.

“wait.” you push off from the car. “let me get your number. i wanna thank you for real. coffee or dinner or something. i could even pay you.”

“you don’t have to do that.”

“i want to, though.”

“i’m good.” he closes the trunk.

“okay, but i’m not, because you literally just helped me and i can’t just let you walk away like it didn’t happen. that’s weird. i have to repay you somehow.”

“it’s a tire.”

“it’s a tire that i would still be staring at and crying over if you hadn’t shown up.” you hold your phone out toward him. “just put your number in. please? i’ll buy you food. you look like you eat food.” you smile, big and white and pearly. the kind of smile that always has you get your way.

he looks at your phone, then at you. something flickers across his face, annoyance, maybe, but also something else. like he’s trying to figure out why you’re still talking.

“i don’t need you to buy me food.”

“it’s not about need, it’s about like thanking you. do you not let people thank you? that’s kind of rude, actually.” you’re smiling when you say it, you don’t mean it in a bad way it’s just when someone does something nice you thank them…it’s the order of things. “come on. one coffee. you can even ignore me while you drink it. i don’t care.”

he stares at you for a second. you keep the phone extended between you, not backing down.

“you’re not gonna let this go,” he says.

“nope.”

he doesn’t take the phone immediately. he just looks at you…not at your car, or the tire, but at you, for a beat too long. his eyes are like the ocean at night, dark and impossible to see the bottom of. then, with a sigh that sounds like he is losing a war, he snatches the phone from your hand, typing something in, then hands it back without looking at you.

“there.”

you glance at the screen. megumi, and a number. no emoji, no last name, nothing extra. very on brand.

“thank you.” you’re smiling again, genuine. “i’ll text you.”

“you don’t have to.”

“i’m going to, though.”

he’s already stepping back, putting distance between you, and he does that thing, the lazy wave without looking, dismissive, like this whole interaction is already fading from his memory.

“get home safe,” he says, and it sounds almost sarcastic, except it also sounds like he might actually mean it.

“i will. thanks to you.” you wave at his back. “bye, megumi!”

he doesn’t respond. rounds the corner. gone.

you stand there for a second, looking at the new contact in your phone. the battery warning flashes, 3% now, but you don’t care.

your phone buzzes. the group chat, finally: sorry babe we were asleep!! are you okay???

you look at the corner where he disappeared, then back at your screen, then at your car with its new tire.

you turn around, swiping at your face quickly. the wind catches the back of your neck, making you shiver in your thin hoodie. it takes you a second to place him.

dark hair. dark blue eyes. taller. good-looking in a way that almost sticks with you. you’ve seen him at parties…always in the corner, usually smoking a joint, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. you don’t know his name, but you know the vague details: gets into fights, keeps to himself, runs with the kind of people who are always getting into trouble.

he’s looking at you with a face that’s a total blank, like a steel shutter pulled down over whatever is going through his head. most people would find it intimidating, but if calculus isn't your forte, reading people definitely is.

“oh my god, hi.” you gesture at your car. “my tire’s flat. i literally have like no idea what to do, my phone’s about to die, no one’s answering…it’s like a whole thing. can you like, help? please. i’ll do anything.”

he looks at the tire, then back at you. “you have a spare?”

“um.” you think about it, biting your lip because you’re really not sure. cars are supposed to have spares right? so the chances are pretty high. “probably? i’ve never looked.”

he doesn’t say anything, just walks past you to the back of your car and opens the trunk. you step aside and watch him move your gym bag, a blanket, a bag of trash that you swore you were going to throw away…two months ago. he pulls up the bottom panel and there’s a smaller tire underneath, plus some tools.

“you have one,” he says.

“oh, perfect. i didn’t even know that was in there.”

he’s already pulling things out, crouching near the flat tire with one of the metal tools, and you realize he’s just going to do it. no discussion. no waiting for you to ask.

the night air is biting, making your ears sting, and every time a distant car engine revs, you jump a little. but megumi is like a localized pocket of calm. he doesn't seem to notice the cold or the creepy silence of the campus this late in the evening.

“oh. uhm- thank you so much,” you say. “seriously. you’re like totally saving me right now.”

he doesn’t respond. he’s loosening something on the tire, working fast like he’s done this a hundred times.

you lean against the side of your car and watch him. the parking lot’s quiet, mostly empty except for a few cars scattered near the other buildings. his eyes look focused and you notice how thick his eyelashes are, and the way his dark hair falls across his face as he works.

you should probably let him focus, but silence has never really been your thing.

“i was studying,” you say. “i have a calc test tomorrow and i’m literally going to fail. like, actually fail. my professor’s so bad, he just talks and doesn’t explain anything, and i’ve gone to every class but i still don’t get any of it.”

he pulls the flat tire off and sets it aside. doesn’t look up.

“i’m y/n, by the way. i feel like i’ve seen you around, like at parties and stuff?”

“megumi,” he says, not looking at you.

“megumi.” you repeat it back, testing how it sounds. “that’s cute. i like that.”

he’s putting the spare on now, and you notice his hands. nice hands, actually, kind of unfairly nice, and the way he moves like this is boring to him. easy. like he’s trying to get this over with as fast as he possibly can.

“you don’t talk much, do you?”

“no.”

“that’s okay. i talk enough for two people anyway.” you pull your phone out to check it. 4%. “do you live on campus or off? i’m off, like two miles that way. my roommate’s probably asleep, she has an eight a.m., which like ew, could never be me. i would simply not survive.”

he tightens something, his shoulders shifting under his jacket.

“are you in a frat? wait, no, you’re definitely not in a frat. i don’t know why i asked that. you don’t have the vibe. not in a bad way. just like, you’re kind of—” you wave your hand vaguely. “i don’t know. you don’t look like a douche or whatever. not that all frat guys are douches, like some guys are super cool obviously i hang out with them and—“

he stands up, brushing his hands off on his jeans and cuts you off. “done.”

you look at the tire. it’s on. it looks normal. you have absolutely no idea what he just did, but your car has four functioning tires again and that’s all that matters.

“oh my god, thank you. seriously. that was so fast. do you just know how to do that? like, is that a thing people know?”

he’s putting the flat tire and the tools back in your trunk, and when he reaches past you to toss the jack in, you catch the scent of him…cold air, laundry detergent, and a faint, earthy trace of something like sandalwood. for a split second, the space between you felt very small, and very warm. but then you look up, making the briefest eye contact with him, and you can tell he’s about to leave. just fix it and disappear.

“wait.” you push off from the car. “let me get your number. i wanna thank you for real. coffee or dinner or something. i could even pay you.”

“you don’t have to do that.”

“i want to, though.”

“i’m good.” he closes the trunk.

“okay, but i’m not, because you literally just helped me and i can’t just let you walk away like it didn’t happen. that’s weird. i have to repay you somehow.”

“it’s a tire.”

“it’s a tire that i would still be staring at and crying over if you hadn’t shown up.” you hold your phone out toward him. “just put your number in. please? i’ll buy you food. you look like you eat food.” you smile, big and white and pearly. the kind of smile that always has you get your way.

he looks at your phone, then at you. something flickers across his face, annoyance, maybe, but also something else. like he’s trying to figure out why you’re still talking.

“i don’t need you to buy me food.”

“it’s not about need, it’s about like thanking you. do you not let people thank you? that’s kind of rude, actually.” you’re smiling when you say it, you don’t mean it in a bad way it’s just when someone does something nice you thank them…it’s the order of things. “come on. one coffee. you can even ignore me while you drink it. i don’t care.”

he stares at you for a second. you keep the phone extended between you, not backing down.

“you’re not gonna let this go,” he says.

“nope.”

he doesn’t take the phone immediately. he just looks at you…not at your car, or the tire, but at you, for a beat too long. his eyes are like the ocean at night, dark and impossible to see the bottom of. then, with a sigh that sounds like he is losing a war, he snatches the phone from your hand, typing something in, then hands it back without looking at you.

“there.”

you glance at the screen. megumi, and a number. no emoji, no last name, nothing extra. very on brand.

“thank you.” you’re smiling again, genuine. “i’ll text you.”

“you don’t have to.”

“i’m going to, though.”

he’s already stepping back, putting distance between you, and he does that thing, the lazy wave without looking, dismissive, like this whole interaction is already fading from his memory.

“get home safe,” he says, and it sounds almost sarcastic, except it also sounds like he might actually mean it.

“i will. thanks to you.” you wave at his back. “bye, megumi!”

he doesn’t respond. rounds the corner. gone.

you stand there for a second, looking at the new contact in your phone. the battery warning flashes, 3% now, but you don’t care.

your phone buzzes. the group chat, finally: sorry babe we were asleep!! are you okay???

you look at the corner where he disappeared, then back at your screen, then at your car with its new tire.