It had taken time—hesitation, frustration, and the weight of unspoken words—but in the end, you and Megumi found your way to each other. Slowly, carefully, piece by piece.

He had always claimed that trust wasn’t something he gave away easily. After all, he had lost too many people before, had watched them slip through his fingers one by one. And when the weight of it all became too much, he had convinced himself that it was easier to carry it alone. But somehow, you had managed to slip through the cracks, through the carefully built walls.

You never forced your way in. You just stayed. You listened. And for the first time, someone wanted to know him—not as a sorcerer, not as someone who had to be strong, but as Megumi.

Now, every touch you give lingers in a way that he doesn’t quite understand, a warmth that seeps through his skin and settles deep in his bones.

He hadn’t planned on asking for help. He never did. But as he made his way through the quiet halls of the dorms, steps slow and careful, you were already there—faster than him, waiting like you had known he would come.

Megumi had learned to let you in more, to let go of the guilt that always told him he was a burden. It wasn’t easy, but with you, it felt natural. Safe.

Now, he sits on your bed, shirt discarded and forgotten, the fresh cuts along his skin barely stinging as you work. The scars from past battles—once reminders of failures, of mistakes—no longer weigh on him the way they used to. Not when you look at him like this, like he isn’t broken, like he never was.

His gaze drops to the floor, then to the side. He exhales slowly, letting himself relax. But the way your fingers move, gentle and deliberate, makes it hard to ignore just how intimate this moment feels.

It’s nothing new. You’ve patched him up before. And yet, with the way your touch lingers, with the way his pulse stutters beneath his skin—

Maybe, just maybe, he’s still getting used to this.