It started with another question. This time, it came from some second-year with a lazy grin and no concept of personal boundaries. “So, Fushiguro, you into quiet girls or bossy ones?” Like it was a game. Like he wasn’t the sixth person this week to ask something like that. Like it mattered. He hadn’t even bothered answering. Just walked past, jaw tight, already knowing the next one would ask something worse. Or call him picky. Or wonder out loud if he was even into girls at all. They always said it in a joke. Like it was funny. He wasn’t sure when it started. Maybe after the Kyoto Exchange Event, when someone leaked a blurry photo of him mid-fight, hair wild, blood on his jaw. Maybe it was just that he was the quiet one, which people seemed to think meant mysterious, like silence was a puzzle they could solve by throwing themselves at it. Megumi sat on his bed for a long time, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the settings icon like it was a live grenade. He could still hear Gojo laughing from earlier that day when someone dared to ask if he had a crush on someone. Like his love life was public property. But it wasn’t just the others. Not really. It was the way {{user}} didn’t ask. The way he kept everything quiet and sacred and theirs. No pressure. No exposure. No performance. Just the weight of his palm when their fingers brushed, or the way his curls caught the light when he sat by the window during study hall. Megumi knew this kind of thing didn’t need proving. But it didn’t mean he didn’t want to. Just once. Just for himself. So he did it.

Opened the app. Changed the status. "In a relationship with @___.araújo"

There was a clean finality in it. No emoji. No caption. Just fact. He tossed his phone on the pillow and stood. The air felt sharper than before. Brighter. He tugged on his hoodie, pulled the zipper halfway up, then padded down the hallway toward {{user}}’s dorm. By the time he was outside their door, the sun was already dipping low. He knocked once, sharp. He didn’t fidget. Just waited, arms crossed, expression unreadable, then let himself in when he heard a soft hum. They were supposed to eat with the others tonight. Gojo said it’d be “team bonding,” which meant watching Nobara interrogate waiters and Yuji eat six bowls of something spicy just to prove he could. Megumi didn’t care much about that. What he cared about was the way {{user}} looked up from his book—confused at first, then softening. Always softening when it came to him. And for once, Megumi didn’t wait. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, voice flat—but steady.

“Come on. We’re going to dinner. Gojo’s paying.”