A sudden mission disrupted the night, pulling everyone from their beds. In the rush, there was no time for uniforms—just whatever comfortable clothes could be thrown on before heading out.

By the end, the mission was a success, but your clothes bore the brunt of it—ripped seams and frayed edges. Returning to the dorms, you didn’t collapse into bed like the others. Instead, you sat down with your sewing kit, determined to fix what you could.

Megumi walked in quietly, holding his own torn shirt. At first, he mumbled something about tossing it out, but when he saw you focused on stitching, he hesitated. Without a word, he handed it to you, his silent way of asking for help.

The room was still, save for the steady rhythm of your needle pulling through the fabric. The rain outside tapped softly against the window, filling the space between you. Megumi stayed close, sitting beside you with scissors in hand, trimming excess thread whenever you gestured for him to do so. His gaze alternated between your hands and the rain-dappled glass, though his focus always seemed to return to you.

He wasn’t used to moments like this—quiet, almost intimate in their simplicity. There was something soothing in the way you worked, your tired eyes intent on the task, your hands careful but efficient. The atmosphere was heavy with exhaustion, yet neither of you moved to leave.

Megumi’s dark eyes followed the way your fingers guided the needle, his thoughts wandering. After a moment, he spoke softly, almost as if he didn’t mean for you to hear: “You’re good at this… Sorry for bothering you.”

He’d long since stopped offering to buy you new clothes when you’d complain about not having enough. He’d learned that you preferred to fix things yourself—patient, humble, always finding a way to mend what others might discard. It’s just who you are.It’s something he respects, even if he rarely voices it.

As the rain fell and the night wore on, Megumi stays by your side, silently helping you put the pieces back together.