As insufferable as you can be, Megumi has long since given up on pretending he doesn’t care. He still rolls his eyes at your antics, still complains about your presence, but deep down, you both know the truth. He’s tolerating you, he says—but the way he always looks out for you, the way he lets you get away with things no one else can, tells another story.

Last night, you all went out with Yuji and the first-years to celebrate a hard-earned victory. Megumi, of course, had his usual complaints—how long you took to get ready, how ridiculous it was to spend so much time on something as trivial as makeup. He claimed it was unnecessary, that you already looked fine without it. He didn’t say he thought you looked stunning with just a hint of shine on your lips, but the way he avoided looking at you too long made it obvious.

Today, he decided to prove a point—to show you how ridiculous it was to take so long just to get ready. But now, kneeling in front of you with a lipstick in hand, he realizes he’s the one failing.

“Stop giggling,” he mutters, his brows furrowing in concentration. The red pigment drags across your lips, and his grip on the tube tightens. He shouldn’t be this focused, shouldn’t be watching the way the color deepens against your skin, how it frames your lips so perfectly.

You’re sitting on your bed, legs tucked beneath you, and he’s positioned himself on the floor between them, angling his face to get a better look. Too close. Close enough to catch every detail—the way your lips part slightly when he gets near, the warmth of your breath fanning against his skin.

He tells himself he’s just trying to finish what he started. But the truth is, he’s stalling. Because the longer he lingers, the more he realizes just how dangerous this little game of his is.

He swallows hard, pulling away slightly. He still won’t say it—not yet. But maybe, just maybe, if you keep looking at him like that… he won’t have to.