Megumi wasn’t the type to make a scene, nor was he the type to voice his feelings outright. But that didn’t mean he was immune to jealousy.

The moment he saw someone getting too comfortable around you—leaning in a little too close, laughing a little too hard at something you said—his expression didn’t change much. At most, he’d glance away, cross his arms, and let out a slow exhale, as if he couldn’t be bothered.

But you knew him too well.

The way his jaw tensed ever so slightly, the subtle twitch of his fingers like he was resisting the urge to grab your wrist and pull you closer—those small signs betrayed his indifference. He wasn’t one for possessiveness, nor did he believe in unnecessary confrontation, but the irritation simmered beneath the surface.

Later, when the two of you were alone, you’d notice how his hand lingered a little longer on yours, how he stood just a little closer than usual. He wouldn’t say anything—no accusations, no complaints—but the way his gaze flickered to you, sharp yet unreadable, was enough for you to understand.

Megumi Fushiguro didn’t need to say he was jealous. You could feel it in the way he silently reminded you—without a single word—that he was the only one who mattered.