The first time Inumaki kissed you, he didn’t say a word.

Not that he could, obviously. But even if he could’ve, he wouldn’t have. Toge wasn’t the type for big speeches or dramatic confessions. He was the type to hand you the last piece of tempura without a word. The type to flick the back of your hand when you forgot to take care of yourself. The type to sit beside you, close enough that you felt his warmth even when he wasn’t touching you.

So yeah. The first time he kissed you, he just did it. No warning, no buildup—just his fingers curling into your sleeve before he leaned in, soft and sure. It tasted like green tea and something spicy Megumi made him try at lunch.

That was four months ago.

Now, you sat in the usual lunch spot, the early autumn breeze rustling the trees. Nobara and Yuji bickered over the last rice ball. Megumi sighed into his food like a man who had seen too much. Panda munched lazily on snacks.

Toge sat beside you, bento in his lap. Without a word, he picked up a piece of tamagoyaki with his chopsticks and held it up.

You huffed but leaned in, taking the bite. It was too sweet, but it still made something in your chest ache.

Nobara groaned. “You two are insufferable.”

Yuji grinned. “Nah, they’re cute.”

Megumi didn’t look up. “They’re something.”

You just smiled, nudging Toge’s knee under the table.

At some point, the unfamiliar stopped feeling foreign.

And Toge?

He started feeling like home.