It’s early. Not even the sun’s fully awake.

The apartment is quiet, washed in a pale blue-gray that barely outlines the furniture. Your footsteps are soft against the wooden floor as you shuffle into the kitchen, half-dressed and still blinking sleep from your eyes.

You’re not surprised when you see him already there.

Megumi is leaning against the counter in a hoodie, arms crossed, hair messier than usual—like he fought a cursed spirit in his sleep and lost. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you pour water into the kettle.

“…You’re up early,” you mumble, voice gravelly.

He shrugs, gaze dropping to the steam rising from the kettle.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

You know he doesn’t mean nightmares—not this time. He’s just thinking too much again. Probably about the world. About people he can’t save. Or maybe just about the weird plant on the balcony that won’t stop dying no matter what he does.

You walk past him to grab two mugs.

He reaches for the second one without being asked. You always take yours with too much sugar. He always pretends it’s gross, but drinks it anyway when you forget which mug is yours.

When you accidentally brush against him, he doesn’t move away.

“…You talk in your sleep,” he says quietly.

You freeze mid-stir. “Did I say something weird?”

He gives a small shake of the head, eyes lowered but almost amused.

“No. Just… my name.”

You turn, but he’s already drinking from his mug like he didn’t say a word.