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A knock sounds at your door, and your eyes flit to the time displayed on your laptop. It’s nearly eleven at night, and while that’s not late by your standards, it is by everyone else you know. Well, excluding one person. You already know who’s behind the door, but you’re nonetheless still surprised to see Fushiguro Megumi standing there with a book between his hands, his usual scowl on his face.
“Hey?” you greet, voice rising into a question, because although you know he’s a night-owl like you, he’s never shown up at your door without warning before.
“Hey,” is all he says by way of explanation before he pushes you to the side and makes his way over to your bed, where he perches himself against the headboard, cross-legged, and opens his book without giving you a second glance. Your mind reels as you close the door. Did he get in a fight with his roommate? Is he having a breakdown over school? Is he just bored? He doesn’t look upset, but that doesn’t mean much. Knowing him, any of those could be a possibility.
You slink back over to your bed, deciding that if he wants to tell you why he’s here, then he will. He’s left a convenient space beside him, as if he’s inviting you to sit next to him despite being in your own bed. You suppose you don’t mind.
Your hands are buzzing as you pick your laptop up, acutely aware of Megumi in your peripheral. You sit back against the headboard too. The bed isn’t that big, and your shoulders touch. Your eyes are focused on the article you have pulled up (which you really need to read before class tomorrow morning), but none of the words reach you. Your attention is entirely invested in the person next to you, who’s flipping a page and still not offering up any explanation whatsoever. You’re fine with it—much, much more than fine with it—but you’re not sure your grade will be.
You finally get your heartbeat down to a pace that isn’t worrisome when Megumi decides to open his mouth.
“I just came here to read, if that’s what you’re wondering.” You have to keep yourself from frowning—how does he always know what you’re thinking?
“Are you sure that’s all?” You know he doesn’t like it, but you can’t help but show your concern.
“What do you mean?” He flips a page of his book. “You invited me.”
“I did?”
“Yup.” You wrack your brain, trying to think of when you’d done that, when it hits you. A memory from a few months ago, back when the two of you had first met. You had invited him over to just sit and read, only knowing him as a guy with a pretty face who liked to read just as much as you, and you hadn’t been able to come up with a better way to get him to hang out with you. He’d never taken you up on it, and you guys had ended up spending time together through other means (mostly by the scheming of your mutual friend, Nobara, who thought you two were perfect for each other), so you’d forgotten all about it. You would have assumed that he had too.
Heat spreads over your cheeks, and you sneak a glance over at him. His hands grip his book gently, long fingers floating over indiscernible words as he turns the page once more. You swallow, hard. Normally, you think you would make fun of him for taking this long to come over, but you’re so touched by it that it makes you shy, so you say nothing. Your eyes, however, stay focused on his hands, and you have to pull yourself away from them before you reach out and intertwine them with your own.
Without realizing it, you heave a sigh as you have to return to the monotony of academic articles, all the while the warmth from Megumi’s shoulder seeps into your own.
“That bad, huh?” he says, leaning over to peek at your screen, pushing you over along with him. “That’s what you get for going into STEM.”
You roll your eyes and huff, “Yeah, yeah, I know.” That wasn’t why you sighed, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that. “As if what you’re reading is any better.” You pluck the book out of his hands, taking care not to lose his place as you look at the cover. East of Eden by John Steinbeck.
“It is.” He snatches it back, and you catch the hint of a smile on his lips.
He goes back to reading his book; you manage to parse through most of your article, much to your relief. You’ve almost grown used to his weight against yours, used to nothing but the sound of his breathing mixing with your own, when, not breaking away from his book, he says your name. You look up, waiting for the rest, to see his ears tinged red. His eyes stay trained on his book, but you can tell he isn’t reading anymore.
“I like you.”
“Oh,” is all you can put together. Oh , because that’s the real reason he’s here. Oh , because all of your friends have told you that he likes you, but you still couldn’t be sure. Oh , because you like him too. The red from his ears spreads to his cheeks, and the knowledge that Megumi can be embarrassed—embarrassed because of you —gives you the edge you need to snap out of it.
“Say it again.” You inch closer to him, a grin growing across your face with each word. “But look at me.”
Hesitantly, he turns to face you, and you can tell he’s struggling to stay composed. His face is now red with a deep frown, which just makes your lips turn up even more. Your heart is racing; you’re sure your face is even more red, but you don’t care. You love this.
“I like you,” he says once more, voice clear, eyes meeting yours, fierce, confident, despite his obvious discomfort.
“I like you too,” you whisper back, but your words don’t even register in your ears. By the time you say it, you’re already absorbed by the shift that happens to Megumi’s expression. It has his familiar intensity, but it’s not like anything you’ve ever seen on him before. Nonetheless, you know exactly what it means.
He leans in, you lean in. Your lips meet his, and the rest of your body goes numb. It’s soft and sweet, just like him (although he tries to hide it), and you can taste a hint of his peppermint chapstick. It’s even better than you thought it would be, just like this, but then, it gets better.
He reaches over to close your laptop (you don’t know where his book went), pushing it to the side so he can grab onto your hips and pull you into him. You take it as an invitation to swing your leg over him so that you sit, perched on his lap, grinning down at the way his lips stay parted. One of his hands comes to rest behind your neck, and it brings your lips back to meet his. Your hands tangle through his hair, and you pull him into you, deeper, and deeper, and deeper, until the need for air forces you to give in.
You pull apart, breathless, but only as much as you need to, so that you can still smile against his mouth.
“It took you that long to say that, huh?” His nose pressed against yours, he glares up at you, but there’s no real bite to it.
“Don’t make me take it back.” You open your mouth to retort, but he cuts you off with another kiss. You suppose you don’t mind.