You weren’t supposed to have someone like him watching over you. Not him. Not Megumi Fushiguro—the boy who’d grown into a sorcerer with weight on his shoulders heavy enough to crack anyone else. But after everything, after the threats that followed you, after the higher-ups decided that living a life as a person covering up deaths by curses was too dangerous to go unguarded, it was him they sent.

Or maybe he chose it. You never got a clear answer.

All you knew was that Megumi became a fixture in your days, your shadow, your shield. At first it had been unbearable—the constant presence, the quiet eyes that saw more than you wanted to give away. But somewhere between arguments and silences, it shifted. You stopped seeing him as just your bodyguard. You started seeing him as Megumi.

And mornings have changed.

At first, his presence in your home had been stiff, almost intrusive—a silent shadow at the door, never sitting, never resting. But over time, you forced him to make himself at home. A spare key pressed into his palm one night—“stop waiting in the hallway”—and now it’s routine.

This morning is no different.

He wakes earlier, always does. You stir when the faint clink of porcelain carries through the quiet, the scent of coffee lingering in the air. The cool morning breeze filters in from the half-open balcony door, tugging at the curtains and brushing against your face until you blink awake.

Through bleary eyes, you see him.

Megumi leans against the railing outside, cup in hand, dark hair messy in the wind. He doesn’t notice you at first—his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the city below, as though he’s watching for danger even here, in the quiet of your home. But his shoulders are looser than you’ve ever seen, his posture not just defensive but… comfortable.

It’s startling, in a way—that someone so guarded, someone who carries duty like armor, looks at ease standing on your balcony with warm coffee in his hands .

The room is still cold from the open door, but warmth spreads through you anyway.

He glances down at his cup—the one you leave clean and dry on the table every night for him when he arrives in the morning. The smell of the coffee causes his thoughts to come to a pause, which makes him look more like a tired man than a strong sorcerer he is.