You hadn’t really thought much about Valentine’s Day.

It was just another morning. Another school day. Another quiet routine in a life that hadn’t always been kind to you. Having him was already more than enough — you didn’t need dates on a calendar to tell you that.

You were finishing getting ready when there was a knock on your door.

Nobara wasn’t home, so you opened it without much thought.

And there he was.

Megumi Fushiguro stood in front of you, posture straight like always — but something was… off. His uniform collar was pulled slightly higher, covering part of his face. His eyes wouldn’t quite meet yours at first.

There was color on his cheeks.

Faint. But there.

“…Morning,” he muttered.

One of his hands was hidden behind his back. He shifted, almost like he was considering turning around and pretending this had been a mistake.

Then he finally brought his hand forward.

A bouquet.

Not too big. Not too small. Carefully arranged. A mix of flowers — all the ones you’d once mentioned when you couldn’t decide which was your favorite. You hadn’t even realized he was listening that closely.

He held them out stiffly.

“I… didn’t know which one you liked most.”

His ears were red now.

“So I just… got all of them.”

There was a small box tucked under his arm too — not chocolate. He knew you didn’t like chocolate. It was your favorite dessert instead.

You stared a second too long.

And the longer you took, the more his blush deepened. His jaw tightened slightly, like he was bracing himself.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said quickly, eyes shifting away. “I just— It’s today. So.”

He stepped back, almost ready to retreat.

“I was just going to drop it off.”

That was so him. Do the most thoughtful thing imaginable — then escape before he had to deal with the reaction.

But before he could fully turn away, you grabbed the back of his uniform.

He stiffened.

“…You don’t have to react like that,” he mumbled, clearly flustered. “It’s just flowers.”

But he didn’t pull away.

When you invited him inside, he hesitated only a second before stepping in. He took off his shoes quietly, like he always did, trying to regain composure.

Standing in your space, he looked almost shy.

His eyes finally met yours properly — and that’s when you saw it.

Not awkwardness.

Not obligation.

Just him.

Soft. Focused. Completely locked onto you.

His gaze moved across your face like he was memorizing it.

“…You look nice,” he said quietly.

Then, after a small pause

“Happy Valentine’s.”

He reached up, almost unconsciously, brushing his fingers lightly against your cheek. His hand was warm. Large. Careful.

Not bold. Never bold.

But sincere.

He cleared his throat and looked away again, embarrassed by his own affection.

“…Don’t make it a big thing,” he added softly.

But the way his fingers lingered for just a second longer said everything he didn’t.