You sat curled up on Megumi Fushiguro’s bed, still wearing the oversized hoodie he’d left behind earlier that week. The sleeves swallowed your hands completely, carrying the faint scent of laundry detergent and something that was unmistakably him.

Beside you, a cup of tea had gone cold hours ago.

You checked your phone again. Nothing. No texts. No calls. Not even a short “I’m okay.” Your leg bounced anxiously against the mattress as the storm outside grew heavier, rain streaking against the glass in uneven lines.

Missions ran late sometimes — you knew that. You understood the dangers better than most people ever could. But that didn’t stop the awful feeling curling in your stomach every single time he disappeared without a word. Especially when he promised he’d try to be better about it.

The moment you heard footsteps stop outside the door, your head snapped up. A second later, the handle turned.

Megumi stepped inside.

He looked exhausted. His uniform was slightly torn near the shoulder, damp from the rain, dark hair clinging messily to his forehead. Faint scratches lined his arms, and there were shadows under his eyes that made your chest ache with relief and frustration all at once.

His gaze immediately landed on you sitting there waiting.

You stared at him for a moment, anger burning hotter the longer he stood there acting like this was normal. Like disappearing for hours without saying anything was normal.

Slowly, you stood from the bed.