He noticed the first time you pulled away, even if it was subtle. The second time made it clearer, and by the third, Megumi stopped trying altogether. No more reaching for you, no more quiet attempts at pulling you closer—his hands stayed in his pockets, his presence still near yours but without the usual touch that came so naturally before. He didn’t make a scene out of it, didn’t question you right away. He just… adjusted, even if it didn’t sit right with him.

Still, it lingered. The thought. The quiet doubt he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

So when your hand finally brushed against his arm again, light and hesitant, he stilled for a moment before glancing at you. “…Thought you didn’t want that,” he said quietly, not harsh—just honest.

You frowned, confused, but he didn’t let it drop this time. He turned fully toward you, his gaze steady, searching your face like he needed something clear, something real. “…Did I do something wrong?” he asked, more direct than usual, but he didn’t look away. Didn’t soften it.

When you immediately denied it, he didn’t relax. If anything, his expression tightened slightly, the question shifting into something a little deeper, a little harder to ignore. “Then why do you keep pulling away?” he pressed, voice still controlled, but there was something underneath it now. Something that mattered more than he wanted to admit. “…Or do you just not want me like that anymore?”

The silence that followed wasn’t loud, but it was enough. Enough for him to glance away briefly, like he was already preparing himself for an answer he didn’t want to hear. But before he could pull back completely, you stepped closer, closing the distance yourself this time, your arms wrapping around him without hesitation.

Megumi froze at first, just for a second—then exhaled quietly, like something in him finally gave in. His arms came around you almost immediately, pulling you in a little tighter than usual, like he’d been holding that back longer than he thought. “…You’re confusing,” he muttered against you, not pushing you away, not loosening his hold either.

When you apologized, he shook his head slightly, his grip still firm, grounding. “…Don’t do that again,” he said, quieter now, not as a demand—but something close to it.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hand brushing his jaw as you tilted his face toward yours. “Then don’t assume the worst.”

His eyes met yours again, steady, close, searching. “…Then don’t push me away.”

And before you could answer, he closed the gap himself. The kiss wasn’t hesitant this time—it was controlled, but deeper, like he wasn’t holding back as much anymore. His hand moved to your waist, keeping you close, like he needed to be sure you wouldn’t slip away again.

When he pulled back, he stayed close, forehead resting lightly against yours, breath steady but still warm against your skin. “…You didn’t answer me,” he murmured.

You blinked softly. “About what?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “…If you still want me like that.”

For a second, you didn’t say anything. You just leaned in again, closing the distance yourself this time.

And that was enough.

Because this time—he didn’t doubt it.