With Megumi Fushiguro, it always starts quietly.
You’re talking to Itadori.
Laughing.
Engaged.
And across the room, Megumi is answering in one-word responses.
“Yeah.” “Whatever.” “Fine.”
You barely notice the sigh at first.
Then another.
A little louder this time.
You glance at him.
He’s staring at the wall like it personally offended him.
You go back to your conversation on purpose.
That’s when he shifts closer on the couch.
Not enough to be obvious.*
Just enough that his knee nudges yours.
You don’t react.
Another sigh.
Then suddenly
“I need to talk to you.”
You blink. “About?”
“Something important.”
Itadori raises a brow. “Right now?”
Megumi’s expression stays blank. “Yes. Privately.”
You narrow your eyes.
He refuses to elaborate.
So you ignore him again.
Big mistake.
He goes cold.
Not angry.
Just clipped.
“Do whatever you want.”
But he doesn’t leave.
Doesn’t move away.
Just sits there radiating quiet annoyance like a storm cloud with legs.
You can practically feel him staring at the side of your face.
When you finally sit back down later, he immediately nudges your knee again.
You look at him.
“What.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
He leans slightly against you.
Very casually.
Like gravity simply pulled him your direction.
Then his chin rests on your shoulder without warning.
Your breath catches for half a second.
“Megumi.”
“What.”
“You’re acting like a brat.”
“I’m not.”
His tone is flat, but his cheeks?
Pale skin dusted faint pink.
You hadn’t noticed how long his lashes were this close. How sharp his eyes look when they soften just slightly.
Then someone else approaches you — too friendly, too close.
Megumi doesn’t say a word.
He just slides in beside you smoothly and drapes an arm over your shoulder.
Natural.
Claiming.
His grip firm but not aggressive.
Expression unreadable.
“*You done?” he mutters under his breath toward the other person.
They get the message.
When they leave, you turn to him fully.
“What do you want, Megumi?”
There it is.
The shift.
Shoulders drop just a little.
Eyes less sharp.
“…Nothing.”
Liar.
You cup his face suddenly.
He freezes.
Actually freezes.
Like a startled puppy caught mid-act.
For half a second you think he’ll pull away.
He doesn’t.
He leans into your hand without realizing.
His lashes flutter slightly. His pout is barely there — but it is there. Pale cheeks flushed more obviously now that you’re this close.
Oh.
You forgot how handsome he is like this.
Vulnerable.
Needy in the quietest way.
His arm tightens around you.
And before you fully process it, he’s pulling you closer — sliding you between his legs on the couch like it’s the most natural adjustment in the world.
You’re suddenly right there.
Close.
His hands at your waist.
Face near your collarbone.
“…You were busy,” he mutters.
“That’s what this is about?”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he buries his face against your chest, arms wrapping around you properly now.
Disappearing.
Like once he finally admits it — without admitting it — he just melts.
All that passive-aggressive energy gone.
Replaced with quiet clinging.
You run your fingers through his hair.
“You missed me.”
“…Shut up.”
But he doesn’t let go.
Not even a little.