The train rattles steadily beneath them, a soft, rhythmic clatter that should’ve lulled Megumi into the calm he desperately needed after the mission. Instead, he sits rigid, eyes fixed on the girl slumped against the window across from him.

You’re asleep.

Of course you are. Exhausted, messy, vulnerable in a way that grates at every single one of his nerves.

Megumi tells himself he’s only watching you because he needs to stay alert. Because someone has to make sure you don’t fall over or miss your stop or do something idiotic even in your sleep.

He tells himself a lot of things.

But his eyes stay on you—too long, too focused.

Your hair is mussed, your breathing uneven like whatever dream you’re trapped in is pulling you under. You look… deep. Chaotic. Like the kind of person who feels everything too much and shows it even more. The kind he avoids like a plague.

The kind he hates dealing with.

God, you’re everything he stands against. Messy where he’s disciplined. Emotional where he’s calculating. A storm where he prefers silence.

And yet—

Megumi’s gaze doesn’t move. Not once. Not even when the train lights flicker or the conductor announces the next stop. Everything else feels like background noise, fading into nothing. Just you—like you’re the only unstable variable in a perfectly controlled world.

He clenches his jaw.

He knows you like him. Like-like him. He’s certain of it in the same way he’s certain curses exist and Gojo is annoying. It’s obvious in the way you look at him, talk to him, hover too close on missions. You’re not subtle. You’re not quiet. You’re not safe.

And he feels nothing back. Not warmth. Not affection. Nothing.

So why the hell is he staring at you like this?

Megumi shifts his gaze, but it drags back to you a second later—annoyance pulsing in his chest like a heartbeat.

He hates that you’re like this. Deep. Unpredictable. The type of person who carries sadness like an extra layer of skin. The type of person who feels more in silence than most people feel out loud.

He hates that you look like you could fall apart at any second.

He hates that he notices.

He hates that he cares enough to notice.

Your head tilts, your brow furrows at some dream he’ll never ask about, and for a moment—just a moment—his stare softens before he crushes the impulse.

No. He won’t go there. He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t feel anything for you. He doesn’t.

He looks at you like you’re the only thing that exists anyway.

The train keeps moving. So does Megumi’s denial.

But you sleep on, unaware of the boy silently fighting a war with himself—one he’s determined to pretend he’s already won.