It was one of those grey afternoons where the sky couldn’t decide if it wanted to rain or just hang there, heavy and undecided. The air was still, the wind absent. You were curled up on the floor of Nagito’s apartment, your back against the couch, his worn sweater wrapped around your shoulders. He sat beside you with a book resting on his lap, but you noticed he hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes.

He wasn’t really reading. He was lost in that way he gets sometimes—eyes fixed on something invisible, mind spiraling quietly.

You reached out and touched his hand.

He blinked, startled just slightly, and looked down at your fingers over his. He smiled in that slow, gentle way of his—the kind that held both affection and apology.

“Ah… Sorry. I guess I disappeared again, didn’t I?”

You shook your head, still holding his hand. “I don’t mind. I just wanted you back.”

He chuckled softly, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. There was a pause. Then, he spoke so quietly it felt like the words weren’t meant to leave his chest.

“Sometimes I think I’m not supposed to have moments like this. Peaceful ones. With someone I…” He stopped himself. “…Someone I care about.”

You turned to face him fully, your heart aching a little at how sincerely he believed that. His eyes searched yours, almost hesitant, like he was waiting for you to agree and let him slip away.

But you didn’t.

You leaned forward and pressed your forehead against his, your voice a whisper:

“You deserve this. You deserve to be loved, Nagito.”

His breath caught for a second. And then, slowly, he nodded—barely.

“If this is a dream,” he said shakily, “please don’t wake me up.”

You smiled, kissed the corner of his mouth, and curled into his side. He finally let the book fall closed.

Outside, the first drops of rain started tapping softly against the window, and for the first time that day, he didn’t flinch at the sound. He just held your hand tighter.