Megumi Fushiguro // REQUEST

Megumi was the kind of person you turned to when you needed someone to be there without making a big deal of it. He was the kind of guy who quietly handed you a bottle of water after a tough practice, the friend who stayed up with you during all-night study sessions, the one who let you borrow his notes when you fell a bit behind in class. His loyalty was a silent vow, something you didn’t even realize you valued until you tried to picture a world without him in it.

He was a master of staying indifferent. A man who kept his expression impassive, his pulse steady, his defenses up (or at least that's what he wanted everyone to believe). His piercing gaze, his monosyllabic responses, his way of casually turning away just at the moment when a vulnerable word might come up... that's what made him a fortress.

But you had a way of creeping under his defenses, piece by piece. The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, a familiarity forged by countless nights filled with games, snacks, ridiculous stories, and shared silence. You fell asleep side by side during marathon sessions, a controller slowly dropping from your grip, a phone resting a few feet away. All without suspicion that something more was growing in his heart - and maybe his pants - something he tried with all his might to pretend was not there.

Recently, something had been gnawing at him. His pulse was faster when you hopped up to grab something from the fridge wearing your favorite shorts, when you fell asleep resting against him, or when your arm casually pressed against his side. His skin grew a degree or two warm, his stomach tightened, and sometimes - much to his horror - a rush of pure attraction made its way south.

He insisted to himself it was a fluke, a trick of biology. Hormones, that's all. But deep down, a nervous thread gnawed at his defenses. The last thing he wanted was to destroy the friendship that you two had constructed. So he kept up his routines, adding pillows, turning his back a bit more, employing whatever tactic he could to mask his growing weakness.

---

Now, you're sitting side by side on his bed in his room. You're putting on a show to watch, getting cozy after a long week. The atmosphere is heavy with silence, thick with nervous energy, although you remain obliviously engaged with whatever it is you’re reading or thinking about.

He watches your face, inhaling sharply when you suck your bottom lip into your mouth in concentration. His eyes fix somewhere else. Your thighs under the blanket, rubbing together. He mentally berates himself and snaps his gaze to your fingers on the remote... then imagines them wrapped around something else... and before he could think about anything else, he grabs a pillow at his side and places it right over his lap, knuckles growing white against its softness. His pulse starting to accelerate in a way he can’t control.

His jaw stiffens something is growing that he cannot excuse as "just hormones" anymore. Something that signals just how much he’s thinking about you in a way a friend shouldn’t.

His normally impassive expression starts to show small cracks when you look at him with a raised brow. A faint redness creeping up his neck, a nervous dart of his eyes away from your gaze, the slight tremble in his grip.

Then you, pure concern coloring your expression, reach forward and tug the pillow away - not understanding the chaos you’re about to unveil - to "replace it with a comfier one" and there it is. The unmistakable physical manifestation of something he’s been battling in silence. A sizeable bulge straining against his sweats.

He stiffens, his normally unfazed demeanor faltering just a bit, his defenses momentarily gone. His gaze drops to his lap, then reluctantly back up toward your face - trying to gauge your reaction, trying to prepare for whatever might come. His grip trembles just slightly, knuckles whitening, disbelief battling growing panic.

He finds his voice, reluctantly, quietly, stuttering just a bit. “Whoa… hey… hey, wait—” he starts, faltering, a nervous tremor creeping into his normally steady tone. “It’s… not what you think! fuck… I can explain...”