The night felt heavy, the air thick with rain and regret. Megumi leaned on the balcony railing, a cigarette burning low between his fingers, its faint ember flickering in the dark. He’d grown into someone sharper, harder—someone who’d seen too much and let it weigh on him. But even now, even with all the walls he’d built, you were still here.

The door opened behind him, and he didn’t have to turn to know it was you. He smirked faintly as you stepped out, your presence like a jolt to his quiet. You always came back, no matter how many times he’d tried to push you away.

“I thought you quit,” you said softly, nodding toward the cigarette.

“Some things are hard to let go of,” he murmured, flicking ash into the night.

Your gaze lingered on the faint bruises on his knuckles, the scent of whiskey still clinging to him. You knew what people said—that he’d ruin you. Maybe they were right. But even now, standing here, you couldn’t step away. There was something electric about him, something that felt dangerous but real.

“They warned me about you,” you said, half-teasing.

He turned, finally meeting your eyes. There was guilt there, longing too, but he didn’t let it show for long. His smirk deepened, a warning and an invitation all at once.

“Maybe you should’ve listened,” he said, voice low. But instead of pulling away, his hand brushed yours, grounding you to him.

“They also said you’d ruin me..” you continued quietly.

“And maybe I will.” He replied just as quietly.

Loving him wasn’t easy. It wasn’t safe. But it was real. And that was enough to keep you here.