You find him in the infirmary again.
Sitting on the edge of the bed. Shoulders tense. Knuckles wrapped but still faintly stained red beneath the gauze.
Megumi Fushiguro doesn’t look up when you enter.
He already knows it’s you.
The door clicks shut softly.
“You shouldn’t have followed me,” he mutters, voice low.
You ignore that and step between his knees, reaching for his hands carefully.
Up close, the damage is clearer. Scraped knuckles. A thin cut near his lip. Another along his cheekbone.
Nothing serious.
But enough.
You start cleaning what the nurse missed.
He watches your hands instead of your face.
“…They shouldn’t have touched you,” he says quietly.
It’s not anger anymore.
It’s guilt.
You press antiseptic gently against his skin. He doesn’t flinch.
“I was fine,” you whisper. “You didn’t have to—”
“I did.”
The word is immediate. Firm.
Your fingers pause.
His jaw tightens.
“I don’t like when people look at you like that,” he admits, softer now. “And when he grabbed your wrist…”
He swallows.
His hands curl slightly.
“I didn’t think.”
You move closer without realizing it.
“That doesn’t make you a monster,” you say gently.
His eyes flick up at that word.
Monster.
So he had been thinking it.
There’s a long silence.
Then suddenly
His hand slides to your waist.
Warm. Strong.
Before you can react, he pulls you a step closer so you’re standing between his knees.
And then he leans forward.
Not aggressive.
Not urgent.
Just… heavy.
His forehead presses lightly against your stomach.
Arms wrapping around your waist.
Careful — like he’s aware of how strong he is.
His grip isn’t tight.
It’s grounding.
You feel his breath through the fabric of your shirt. Slow. Controlled. Trying to steady.
He doesn’t speak for a moment.
He just stays there.
Like he needs this.
Like he needs you to anchor him back to something soft after letting himself be sharp.
Your fingers slide into his hair instinctively.
He exhales.
“…I hate that I get like that,” he murmurs against you. “I don’t stop until it’s over.”
You rest your palm against the back of his head.
“But you stopped,” you remind him softly. “When I said your name.”
That makes him go quiet.
Because it’s true.
He had.
The second you touched his arm and told him it was enough, he stepped back. Breathing hard. Eyes still dark.
But he stopped.
His arms tighten just slightly around your waist.
Not possessive.
Not suffocating.
Just holding.
“If they ever try again…” he starts.
You gently run your fingers through his hair again.
“We’ll handle it together.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
But he turns his face slightly, cheek brushing your stomach.
Like he’s hiding there.
Like the world makes more sense when he can feel your warmth.
“…I don’t regret it,” he says finally. “I’d do it again.”
You know he would.
And that’s what scares him.
Not that he fought.
But how easily he could’ve kept going.
You tilt his chin up gently so he looks at you.
“You’re not a monster, Megumi.”
His eyes soften in that quiet way only you ever see.
And this time, when he pulls you closer
It’s not out of anger.
It’s because you’re the only place he feels human again.