The hallway is dark, lit only by the flickering glow of vending machines and the faint hum of cursed energy in the walls. You’re not expecting to see anyone—least of all him.

Your breath catches before your brain does.

Megumi stands just a few feet ahead, shoulders slouched beneath the weight of exhaustion and blood-spattered sleeves, his suitcase hanging limply in one hand. He looks like hell. And yet you still feel your heart do that stupid thing.

He wasn’t supposed to be back until morning. You weren’t supposed to be here at all.

His eyes meet yours—and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

The silence between you is thick, strained, filled with the echo of the last time you spoke a week ago. The way he snapped. The way you tried to make him understand that your worry wasn’t control—it was fear. The kind that chews at your chest when someone you love walks into danger with nothing but duty to protect them.

He shifts, his fingers tightening around the handle of his bag. There’s dirt on his cheek. A scratch running along his jaw. A hundred signs he’d never admit to showing.

“…Hey,” he says finally, quiet and low, like he’s testing the weight of the word in his mouth.

There’s still so much left unsaid. But right now, it’s just you, him, and this cracked silence wrapped in midnight air. And for all the anger and all the stubbornness, you both know— You missed each other.

Desperately.