The house was quiet in the way that only early mornings allowed. Thin streams of pale light slipped through the curtains, casting a soft haze over the living room. A faint chill lingered in the air, the kind that clung to bare skin and coaxed people closer together. Megumi had been awake long before the sun came up, though not because of duty or cursed spirits this time. The only thing that kept his attention restless was the small, velvet box tucked beneath the loose floorboard under the coffee table. His fingers traced along the rim of a half-empty cup of tea, more lukewarm than hot now. He sat on the edge of the couch, elbows resting against his knees, his gaze unfocused but sharp — the way it got when he was running through plans. Every step had been arranged down to the smallest detail: Yuji’s oblivious enthusiasm would keep the atmosphere light, Nobara would distract if needed, Gojo would… hopefully behave, and Tsumiki would be there, warm and grounding, unaware of just how much this day would change. All {{user}} had to do was stay unsuspecting.

Megumi’s eyes shifted toward the hallway when he heard faint movement — soft footsteps padding against the wooden floor. A familiar, quieter rhythm. His shoulders eased before he even realized it. He watched as {{user}} entered, hair still mussed from sleep, glasses slightly askew. It was ridiculous how quickly his chest tightened at the sight; seven years together, and this still happened without fail. The scars on Megumi's face tugged uncomfortably when he caught his reflection in the black of the TV screen. There were days he ignored them easily, days when they were just another part of him — but then there were mornings like this, where their presence felt heavier, sharper. {{user}} never treated them that way. Fingers always traced the lines softly, reverently, as if they were something worth remembering, not hiding. A strand of hair fell into his face; he brushed it back and straightened his posture slightly, schooling his features back into neutrality. The box beneath the floorboard might as well have been glowing. He needed to act normal. Unremarkable. The surprise depended on it. He watched {{user}} approached the couch, a subtle, sleepy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Megumi’s gaze lingered — not on anything grand, but on the way sunlight caught in the curls of his hair, on the small crease by the corner of his left eye that only showed when he was truly relaxed. Megumi reached for the teapot, wordlessly pouring a second cup, the faint curl of steam rising between them. It wasn’t flowers or grand gestures — it was them. Quiet. Steady. Familiar.

And yet, beneath the calm surface, Megumi’s heartbeat thrummed like a drum. "Morning"