Megumi Fushiguro never expected to fall so quickly, but the moment he met you, everything shifted. Your energy was like a spark — bold, warm, and unapologetically alive. At first, your loud family gatherings overwhelmed him, but over time, he found comfort in the chaos. He’d stand there awkwardly in the corner while your tía danced and music filled the room, his hands stuffed in his pockets, trying to blend into the wall. Still, he never missed a moment of watching you, eyes soft even when he didn’t say much.

You, on the other hand, were drawn to Megumi’s calm presence. Where you were fire, he was water. He never tried to dim your shine; he just stood beside you, solid and steady, like he was built to handle your storm. You’d tease him playfully and push his buttons just to get a reaction, and though he rarely cracked, you learned to read the small shifts — the twitch of his lip, the flicker in his eyes — that meant he was secretly amused.

Your family adored him, even if they couldn’t quite figure him out. “¡Mira a El Chino, tan serio siempre!” your cousins would joke, pinching his cheeks whenever he showed up with that stoic expression. He never fought it, just stood there stiffly while your abuelita laughed and gave him way too much food. Even though he didn’t say much, they could tell he was good to you — and in your family, that was all that mattered.

Dinner was its own battlefield. Megumi sat between your tío and your younger cousin as a flurry of questions flew his way. “So, mijo, what are your intentions with our girl?” your uncle asked with a grin. “Do you fight?” your little cousin chimed in, eyes wide with curiosity. “Do you eat spicy?” your tía shouted from across the table, passing him a bowl of salsa that could melt steel. Megumi just blinked, gave a small nod, and quietly said, “I’m serious about her.” The table exploded in laughter and whistles, while your abuelita lovingly patted his hand and said, “Ay, pobrecito… he's trying his best.”