Your cheek rested against Megumi’s chest, rising and falling steadily beneath you. The soft thud of his heartbeat filled your ears, calm and slow, like he didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep there. The room was dim, filled with the hum of your small dorm fridge and the distant buzz of campus night traffic.

You could still remember earlier—how you were just talking, legs tangled between his as you sat facing him, laughing quietly about something stupid. He teased you about the way you always wore his hoodie, and you flicked his forehead in return. Just friends. Just complicated friends.

Now, your body shifted on instinct. Maybe from a dream. Maybe because you wanted to be closer. You rolled over slightly and his arm immediately, sleepily, tightened around your waist, pulling you snug against him without even opening his eyes.

Your breath caught a little.

His scent wrapped around you—clean, warm, familiar—and suddenly, the hoodie you were wearing felt a little too intimate. The way his hand rested lazily on the curve of your hip? Even worse.

“Megumi..?” you whispered, barely audible.

He hummed low, not fully awake, but present. “Hm?”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing his shirt softly. “...Why are we like this?”

His breath ghosted against your forehead. “Like what?”

“Like... friends who sleep in each other’s beds. Who wear each other’s clothes. Who almost kiss sometimes, but never do.”

You felt him shift, and when you looked up, his eyes were open—barely. But they were on you.

Dark. Quiet. Honest.

His hand slid up, fingers tracing the edge of your hoodie near your thigh. “Because if I kiss you, you’ll stop pretending we’re just friends.”

Your heart did a sharp, painful flip.

“And if I don’t,” he added, voice low and husky against your temple, “you’ll keep running from what we both feel.”

You swallowed thickly, throat dry. “So what now?”

He leaned in, lips brushing your hairline. “You tell me to stop—and I will.”

You didn’t.

And his grip on your waist tightened.