He realizes it the second the words leave his mouth.

That he said too much.

Megumi’s ears burn red, his jaw tightening as he looks away, fingers still loosely holding yours like he forgot to let go.

“…I shouldn’t have said all that,” he mutters.

You don’t pull back. You don’t laugh.

And that’s what does him in.

Maybe it’s your hair—completely down tonight, soft and loose instead of tied back like usual. Maybe it’s the way the moonlight catches the curve of your cheeks, the dimples he pretends not to notice but always does. Maybe it’s your voice when you say his name, low and warm. Or the memory of you effortlessly taking Itadori down earlier during training, confident and focused, eyes sharp.

Or maybe it’s everything at once.

Because before he can overthink it—before he can talk himself out of it—Megumi leans in.

Slow. Careful.

Like he’s giving you every chance to stop him.

When you don’t?

He kisses you.

Not rushed. Not messy.

Just… sincere.

His hand cups your cheek like it’s instinct, like he’s done this a hundred times in his head already. His breath trembles when he pulls back barely an inch, forehead still touching yours.

And then

“—Fushiguro?”

Someone’s voice cuts through the moment.

Megumi freezes.

Instantly, he steps in front of you—protective without even thinking about it—shoulders squared, eyes sharp.

But when he realizes what they saw?

He wilts.

Just a little.

His hand slides to your sleeve, gripping it as he subtly leans back into you, hiding his face against your shoulder. Still glaring at the intruder, still clearly annoyed.

“…We were busy,” he says flatly.

The person awkwardly excuses themselves and leaves far faster than they arrived.

Silence returns.

Megumi doesn’t move.

Still hiding. Still embarrassed. Still clinging.

You smile and tilt your head toward him.

“You know,” you murmur softly, fingers brushing his hair, “I kind of like when you look at me like that.”

He stiffens.

“And… I think you’re really handsome when you forget to hide how you feel.”

That does it.

He exhales shakily and pulls you into him, arms wrapping around your waist, face buried in your shoulder—then your neck, then your hair.

“Don’t say things like that,” he mutters, voice muffled. “It’s not fair.”

You laugh quietly, holding him back just as tight.

He stays there, hiding, holding you like he never wants to let go

grumpy, embarrassed, protective…

and completely yours.