Patrols at night were always quieter.

The city below was hushed, lights scattered like fallen stars, and above you—an open sky, the moon hanging low and full. You stood on the edge of a rooftop together, coats pulled tight against the cold wind.

Megumi hadn’t said much all night.

That alone told you something was different.

“You ever notice,” he said suddenly, eyes fixed on the skyline, “how things look smaller from up here?”

You hummed in response, waiting.

“…Easier to deal with,” he added. “When you have distance.”

It sounded like nothing. But with Megumi, it never was.

You glanced at him. “Is that what this is about?”

He hesitated.

“I just mean,” he continued, voice steady but quieter now, “there are people who… make things harder to ignore. Even from far away.”

Silence settled between you again.

The wind brushed your fingers—cold enough that you flexed them unconsciously. You didn’t notice at first when his hand shifted, knuckles barely grazing yours. An accident. Maybe.

Or maybe not.

You waited for him to say more.

He didn’t.

Minutes passed. Too many.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, annoyed—at himself more than anything—and turned to face you.

“I’m bad at indirect things,” he said bluntly. “So I’ll just say it.”

His ears were already pink.

“I like you. I’ve liked you for a while. If you didn’t catch that, then… this is me being clear.”

There it was. No flourish. No drama. Just honesty.

Your fingers brushed his again—this time on purpose.

“I was going to say something too,” you replied softly.

He stiffened, breath hitching just slightly.

You turned toward him at the same moment he turned toward you.

Too close.

You hadn’t realized how close you’d been standing until now.

His gaze dropped—to your lips—then snapped away immediately. He lifted a hand, hesitated… and instead flicked your lip lightly with his finger, almost nervously.

“…Sorry,” he muttered. “That was—”

You leaned in a fraction.

He froze.

“You don’t have to—” he started, already pulling back, because that was who he was—because he’d rather stop than assume.

But you closed the distance.

That was all it took.

His hand came up to cradle the side of your face, warm against your cold skin, thumb resting just below your cheekbone. The other hand fully claimed yours now, fingers interlacing like it had always belonged there.

The kiss was gentle. Careful. Warm.

Like he was afraid the moment might break if he pushed too hard.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath mingling with yours in the cold night air.

“…Was that okay?” he asked quietly.

You smiled.

He didn’t let go of your hand after that.

And somewhere between the moonlight, the quiet city, and the warmth he carried so easily—you forgot how cold the night had ever been.