The courthouse is smaller than you imagined.

Not the grand halls or dramatic vows people talk about—just a narrow building with pale walls, fluorescent lights, and a desk where someone slides papers across to you with quiet efficiency.

It almost feels unreal.

Outside, the world is still moving like normal. Cars pass. People walk by with coffee cups and work bags. No one knows that inside this little room, two people who barely started college are about to do something most would say is far too soon.

Megumi stands beside you, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat the way he always does when he’s nervous. He hasn’t said much since you arrived. Not because he doubts it—you know he doesn’t—but because the weight of it sits heavy on his shoulders.

Marriage.

It sounds too big for someone your age.

The clerk points at the line on the paper.

“Sign here.”

You nod, taking the pen they offer.

Your hand hesitates for a second above the page. The new last name sits there waiting for you, unfamiliar but somehow not wrong. You test it slowly, carefully forming each letter in the neat cursive you practiced absentmindedly in notebooks before today.

The ink glides across the paper.

Mrs. Fushiguro

It feels strange at first.

Then it doesn’t.

When you finish, you stare at it a moment longer than necessary—your name, slightly different now, a quiet promise sitting in black ink.

Megumi notices.

He leans slightly closer, just enough to see the paper.

“…You practiced that,” he says quietly.

You glance up at him, a little embarrassed. “Maybe.”

His mouth almost curves. Almost.

When he takes the pen, he signs his own name without hesitation, the movement steady and quick—like once the decision was made, there was never anything left to question.

The clerk gathers the papers like it’s just another routine moment.

But when Megumi’s hand finds yours under the desk—fingers brushing yours first, then holding them—it doesn’t feel routine at all.

It feels like the start of something terrifying.

And completely yours.