You were the one who confessed first—fully aware of the kind of person Megumi Fushiguro was. Reserved. Closed off. Someone who felt deeply but would never say it out loud, or at least would hesitate until the moment passed. You knew the risk. Still, you did it.

After all, it wasn’t as if the signs weren’t there. The way he was always positioned just slightly in front of you during missions. The countless times he took hits meant for you. The quiet way he watched your surroundings instead of his own. He was a gentleman—always respectful, always careful. And during training… there was something else. A chemistry neither of you ever named.

Once, an enemy nearly landed a fatal strike on him. You lunged without thinking, colliding into him to knock him off course. You both went down hard, rolling across the ground. His hand was firm against your back—protective, never improper. Your faces were close enough that you could feel his breath hitch. For just a second, the world narrowed to that space between you.

Then the enemy struck again.

Megumi reacted instantly, twisting his body to shield you, one arm cradling your head as he rolled you out of danger. His hand stayed at your waist until you regained your footing. You both stepped back into stance like nothing had happened.

But afterward, you stood frozen. And you weren’t the only one flustered. Megumi tugged his collar up just a bit higher than usual, eyes averted.

There were other moments. Quiet ones. Helping each other tend to wounds. Sometimes he took off his shirt so you could bandage him. Sometimes you did the same, turning away while he worked, his hands steady but careful. Everything pointed to something unspoken.

So you confessed.

You suggested dating—just to see if it could work. You were sure he felt the same.

You never expected rejection.

But it happened.

After that, you kept your distance. There was no reason to stay close, to let your feelings deepen when they clearly weren’t wanted. Maybe you’d made him uncomfortable. Maybe you were wrong from the start. Still, Megumi didn’t change—he continued to protect you, to worry, to care. And that made it harder.

Then Gojo assigned you together.

Of course he did.

The mission went wrong fast. A miscalculation split the battlefield in two—Megumi on one side of the building, you on the other. And you were unlucky enough to face the stronger curse.

By the time it was over, you had a deep gash across your ribs and another on your leg. You wrapped yourself up with what supplies you had and limped away, determined to leave before Megumi arrived. He could handle himself. A message would be enough.

But Megumi handled his side too quickly. He found you leaning against the wall, using it to stay upright. You heard him call your name—but you ignored it.

“I’m heading home,” you said instead, pushing yourself forward.

You kept walking, because if you stopped, you knew he would insist on carrying you. On helping. And that—after everything—would be unbearably awkward.

So you walked. Even when every step hurt.

Even when you knew he was right behind you.