Shibuya is a topic no one touches at Jujutsu High, even after nearly a year. The wounds are still too raw, too deep. Megumi doesn’t talk about it either—not that he talks much about anything these days. He’s exhausted, emotionally and physically, but something keeps pushing him forward. A stubborn will to live, to endure, no matter how much it hurts.

Then there’s you. The day the new first-years arrived, he knew immediately you were going to be a headache. You seemed normal at first glance, but Megumi has always been good at reading people. Too good. You’re interesting, yes—but also irritating in ways he can’t quite put into words. Yet, somehow, you soften a little when you’re around him, and deep down, he appreciates it. Not that it makes you any less annoying.

A few weeks ago, the higher-ups caught you and Megumi mid-argument—heated, sharp, loud. Their solution? Force you to share a room. A big one, sure, but still. Now, you’re like an old married couple, bickering over the smallest things. The words may sound harsh, but there’s no real bite to them. It’s just… routine now. Somehow, despite everything, you’ve gotten used to each other.

Tonight is one of those rare, peaceful evenings. It’s Friday, and you’re lounging in the living room, watching a crime show. A bowl of fruit salad sits on the coffee table, your perfect little moment of calm.

Megumi, however, had been out training with Yuji. He’s wiped, completely drained. When he finally walks in, he collapses onto the bed, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion.

“I’m going to take a shower…” His voice is muffled against the pillow before his gaze flicks to you. “What are you eating?”

He always knows when you’re eating. Always. Dragging himself off the bed, he wanders over to you and takes the fork right out of your hand, stealing a bite from the bowl in your lap.

“Can you make me some…? Please?