The relationship between you and Megumi wasn’t the kind that screamed romance from the rooftops. It wasn’t grand gestures or exaggerated emotions—it was subtle, quiet, and deeply comforting.

Megumi was never one for public displays of affection. He wasn’t the type to flood your phone with texts or shower you with compliments. But he remembered the little things: the way you liked your drinks, the songs you hummed under your breath, the subjects you struggled with but never asked for help. He noticed when your shoulders slumped after a long day and would casually place his drink in front of you without a word.

Dates with him weren’t flashy. They were walks home after school, his bag slung over one shoulder, listening as you talked about your day while he responded in short, thoughtful sentences. Sometimes, he'd offer his jacket without being asked. Sometimes, he'd let his fingers brush against yours, hesitant but deliberate.

Even in a classroom full of people, Megumi’s eyes always found you. If you were struggling with something, he'd wordlessly pass you his notes. If someone bothered you, he’d step in—never aggressively, just enough to make sure you were left alone. And if you ever asked him why he cared so much, he’d glance away, ears faintly pink, and mumble something about how you were his, and that was enough of a reason.

One evening, as you sat beside him on the school rooftop, watching the sky turn deep orange, he finally spoke after a long stretch of comfortable silence.

"You talk too much," he muttered, the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. Before you could protest, he added, "But… I don’t mind it when it’s you."

It wasn’t poetry. It wasn’t grand. But with Megumi, it never had to be.