Chapter Text
It’s been a month.
It has been a month since Yuuji has officially signed his life away to the Zen’in family, a month since his wedding to the now head of the Zen’in clan—Zen’in Megumi, recognized as his beloved husband.
However, he has been anything but beloved since Yuuji met him.
Cold would be more fitting, indifferent too.
It’s hard, marriage life. To be the partner, the chosen one for the head of the clan, has not been an easy task when the person you’re supposed to be with for the rest of your life barely looks at you, acknowledges you, much less touches you.
Throughout his life, Yuuji has always been social and thus found himself surrounded by people growing up—a loving grandfather, caring friends, doting mentors, so on and so forth. Yet, never had he imagined he would be here, isolated in a sprawling compound with only members of one of the oldest, esteemed clans in Japan to have as companions, people so far removed from the outside world that Yuuji cannot fathom what to even talk about with them, and, unfortunately, his husband doesn’t fare better for conversation given his taciturn nature.
Zen’in Megumi is the 27th head of the Zen’in clan, approved for the position once he married Yuuji. And he acts like it. Not in the sense that he is domineering and haughty to everyone, but in the way he carries himself.
Megumi commands attention. Servants and clan members alike part like the East Sea for him when he walks through the halls, heads bowed in his presence. Yuuji is expected to behave like this and he accepts it with little protest, unsure whether because he wants to abide by tradition (no matter how ridiculously favored it is for the patriarchy), or because Megumi himself compels him to.
Megumi is made for clan leadership, that Yuuji can easily see. He has no qualms showing Megumi the respect he deserves. The only qualm he does have is about how they act in private—this is where black and white becomes gray, and he’s lost.
As husband and wife, they should be doting and loving to each other, right?
At least, that’s what he’s been fed by the few shojo mangas he read.
Technically, if Yuuji really thinks about it, they have a marriage of convenience. Not a marriage of love.
And so by default, they’re not bounded by love.
Love is not expected here.
They didn’t need love to be wedded, considering it was really a sealed scroll that solidified Megumi to be at the top of the clan (Yuuji only had to stamp it with his blood).
Now it makes sense. The pieces come together—why Megumi has never bothered to reach out to him beyond what’s necessary, how they make do with simple greetings before parting ways to fulfill their separate duties each day—there’s no obligation to act like lovers.
Perhaps, that is why Megumi stands on land different from where he is, across the water. A sea between them. There isn’t a bridge to cross, and Yuuji thinks Megumi has no plans to build one. If Megumi has it his way, then they’ll only be close in name but remain distant in all other aspects, a lonely marriage—and isn’t that just sad?
Which is why, Yuuji decides he’ll swim across the goddamn sea.
______
The chance comes when a maid falls sick.
There’s not enough womanpower in the kitchen, so before another poor girl can be forced to work extra, Yuuji voluntarily steps in to take over cooking for Megumi, eliciting many shocked faces and hushed whispers. While he is expected to serve Megumi in all ways possible, cooking was not entrusted to him (possibly from lack of confidence in his skill Yuuji suspects). But since he’s the wife of Zen’in Megumi, the head maid defers and reluctantly agrees to his whims.
It works out perfectly. Years of cooking meals for himself and his ailing grandfather have readied him to take on the challenge of cooking for his aloof husband, a large arsenal of recipes at his disposal.
When he shares the news of his newfound duties, Megumi blinks at him, confused. “How come? You don’t need to exert yourself, we have servants.”
“I know,” Yuuji says, scratching his cheek. He smiles hesitantly at Megumi. “But I feel like it’ll be nice. I can cook for you.”
This makes Megumi blink more. He stares at Yuuji, quiet, like he’s contemplating something.
Yuuji shifts uneasily in place, unable to discern his husband’s expression, wondering if he said something weird. The urge to further explain grips him when Megumi cuts into his thoughts.
“Okay, I look forward to it.”
Yuuji beams.
The rest of that day goes well.
______
To make it easier on himself, Yuuji decides to start with his best and most simple dish: miso soup.
He rolls out of bed early next morning to beat everyone to the kitchen so he can prep in peace. While he has servants to aid him, he honestly prefers to do it himself. There’s just something about food tasting better when you put in your own hard work.
The tofu is chilled and soft when Yuuji cuts into it effortlessly, slicing it into neat sizeable cubes that he drops into the pot of boiling soup. He washes the dried seaweed before dropping it next, then the chopped green onions. The delicious aroma of miso soup fills the air, and when Yuuji taste-tests it, the flavor sings and tastes exactly as how his grandfather used to make it.
Serving the soup on a tray with side dishes of pickled vegetables, Yuuji brings the tray to his shared bedroom with Megumi and settles it on the tatami. He sets up the low table and the seat cushions before arranging the dishes onto the table, making sure to display everything in the artful way that the head maid taught him.
Yuuji sits down in his spot and looks up when he hears approaching footsteps, watching Megumi enter their bedroom as he towels his hair. He doesn’t often take a morning shower so Yuuji can’t help but admire the wet, inky locks framing his face, those long eyelashes glistening in the sunlight, fluttering as he blinks out water from his viridian green eyes. His fair skin contrasted by the dark blue kimono he wears today.
Megumi is undeniably beautiful.
That, Yuuji is very aware of.
Megumi takes his seat across him and looks down at the food, eyes taking in all the dishes set before him.
“You made this?” He asks, picking up his bowl of miso soup and taking a whiff.
Yuuji nods shyly.
“It smells good,” Megumi hums, then in a louder voice, “itadakimasu.” He takes a sip, closing his eyes as if focusing on the flavor, then licks his lips.
Megumi begins to eat the meal with gusto unseen before, and Yuuji releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. With a small grin, Yuuji picks up his own bowl and starts to eat with equal fervor, feeling a lightness pervading his body and the room as an easy atmosphere settles in.
They don’t talk, sounds of slurping and chopsticks hitting porcelain replacing words.
When Megumi puts down his bowl and chopsticks, Yuuji does the same but Megumi waves him off, giving him permission to continue eating. It’s an unspoken rule that when the clan head finishes eating, you do too; otherwise, it would be a sign of defiance. It’s a dumb and frustrating rule Yuuji finds to begin with, but even worse since Megumi is a fast eater.
“You don’t have to stop when I do,” Megumi reminds him.
Yuuji shrugs. “Habit now, I guess. Since I gotta follow you.” He picks up a pickled radish and pops it into his mouth, munching loudly.
Megumi frowns. “Don’t—I don’t want that. Just do what you want.”
Now it’s Yuuji’s turn to frown. “Do what I want?” He tilts his head, brows slightly furrowing. “You’re joking right? That’s like—the opposite of what everyone is doing!”
“I don’t care what everyone else is doing,” Megumi states, apathetic. “I only care about you.”
Yuuji nearly drops his bowl, eyes widening as he registers those bold words. Something unfamiliar in his chest unfurls, budding to take place, almost eerily like—
“After all, you’re my wife.”
That glimpse of something dissipates immediately and Yuuji tries not to show it, swallowing a lump in his throat, feeling suddenly parched.
“Yeah, I am,” Yuuji agrees, offering a weak smile.
The obvious reminder makes him lose his appetite. Yuuji is aware of his secondary position every day, put in his place by both servants and members of the clan. A bittersweet reality, full of hierarchical rules, that he is now living.
Megumi looks down at his lap. Then, he looks up, staring straight into Yuuji’s eyes, and does something that catches Yuuji completely off-guard.
“The meal was good. I hope it won’t be a burden to ask for more,” Megumi says softly.
It takes a second for Yuuji to parse out what he’s saying, what he’s seeing, and then he’s blurting, “No—wait! I mean yes!” Cheeks flushing, Yuuji hastily amends, “It’s not a burden. I love to cook, so—um, it’s not a burden.”
If it’s not the trick of the light, Yuuji thinks Megumi smiles.
______
It becomes routine.
Yuuji will wake up slightly earlier than Megumi nowadays so he can beat the morning rush to the kitchen and make their meals. Of course, he doesn’t forget to bid his sleepy husband ‘good morning’ and prepare spare clothes for him in case he showers before rushing off, even shooting Megumi a bright grin on days he’s feeling particularly good.
The kitchen is now Yuuji’s domain. It’s become a familiar sight to see the pink-haired man bustling in the kitchen every morning so the judging stares have lessened, though fleeting whispers still remain. Each day’s menu is different so Yuuji comes flying through the kitchen doors, rushing to assess the day’s fresh ingredients firsthand himself.
It has become popular knowledge that Yuuji has notable skills in the kitchen so the servants leave him alone, only aiding when he deliberately asks.
Since Yuuji is now in charge of serving the clan head meals himself, the maids are able to spend more time preparing meals for other clan members, which seems to have inadvertently improved quality and added favor to Yuuji.
While there is certainly still disapproval over Megumi’s wife choice, it’s hard to pick a fight when said wife has great sway over everyone’s stomachs.
It’s in the middle of cutting up carrots for the nikujaga he’s making when Yuuji hears nearby footsteps shuffling quickly. Suddenly, the shoji door is slammed to the side and in walks a man of similar height to Yuuji with blond highlights stark against black strands, sharp eyes narrowing at the sight of him.
“Naoya-san,” Yuuji greets politely, slightly turning to face the man.
“Ah,” Naoya drawls, crossing his arms against his chest, “look who it is. Of course, I’ll find you here, Megumi’s wife.” He draws out the last word in mockery, as if it was a distasteful, dirty thing.
Out of all the Zen’in members Yuuji has the (mis)pleasure of meeting, Naoya just may be the one who rubs Yuuji wrong the most. No matter how polite, how sweet he tries to be to the head of the Hei, Naoya returns it all with malicious interest.
Albeit Naoya rarely appears before him considering their respective living quarters are far apart, but when he does—god. Patience is tested. Yuuji has found it best to just ignore him.
He tries to, focusing on his task and moves on to dicing potatoes.
Naoya leans on the wall behind him, and Yuuji resists the horrible urge to shy away, feeling unforgiving eyes drag along his body, and not for the first time. He hates it. He wants to punch Naoya straight in the face, but he won’t.
He will not add reason for Naoya to bash Megumi.
“Ya know,” Naoya starts, sounding almost innocent, “I wondered why Megumi chose someone like you as his wife. It’s unheard of.” He feigns thinking, chuckles out loud, “But now, I think I get it. You’re an ugly piece of trash, but you’re also good at cooking, I’ll give ya that.”
Yuuji’s hand trembles, nearly slicing a finger instead of the potato, but continues to chop as the derisive words keep spilling out.
“It’s like night and day, but I guess you’re not so different.” Naoya cackles at Yuuji. “After all, bitches belong in the kitchen.”
A harsh breath leaves Yuuji’s mouth. He has something to say but his tongue feels heavy, glued to his teeth, as he scrambles to think above the rising hot rage engulfing him. Don’t punch him, don’t punchim, don’tpunchim, d—”
“Oh, and don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
Yuuji startles out of his mantra and shoots a glance over his shoulder, watching Naoya’s face twist into a sneer.
“Serving our precious clan head more food, haven’t you? While the rest of us suffers with meager scraps.” Head tilted, Naoya mocks, “Don’t you have a heart?”
Yuuji whirls around, aghast. “W-What?!” he yells. “That’s not true!”
“True or not, it doesn’t change the fact you’re Megumi’s bitch,” Naoya remarks, twirling a finger in his ear. He straightens up and levels a look at Yuuji, a smirk slowly creeping on his face.
“How is it, by the way?”
Yuuji furrows his brows, not understanding what he’s asking. He sets down his knife and turns his full attention to Naoya, getting the feeling the man won’t be leaving anytime soon.
“What do you mean?”
Naoya sighs, offering him a fake sympathetic look. “Seems like the rumors are true then—that you two are like cold fishes in one pond. What a pity, the only good thing Megumi has going for him is his dick, but I guess that doesn’t matter if even he can’t find you attractive.”
Yuuji grits his teeth hard, hands balled into tight fists as he stares Naoya down, chest full of explosive rage that makes him want to hurl a tree at that condescending gaze. But for Megumi’s sake, he knows he has to repress his anger, otherwise he could cause a scene and god knows what that could lead to.
As if taking sick pleasure from this, Naoya smirks wider, showing off teeth as he continues, “You better learn to take it up the ass.” He snickers cruelly, “Or else, it’ll be a bitching hell for you every night. Oh wait, that’s assuming scummy lil’ Megumi can even fuck—”
“Naoya.”
Both Yuuji and Naoya whip their heads around to the low growling voice.
There standing in the doorway, haloed by sunlight but with shadows across his face, is his husband, his dark piercing eyes flitting from Yuuji to Naoya then back to Yuuji. Megumi stalks into the room and halts in front of Yuuji, blocking him from sight.
There’s a brief pause as the two blood-related men glare at each other, sizing one another. Megumi appears calm, but there’s a coldness in his expression that Yuuji has not seen before.
“Why are you here?” Megumi demands, straight to the point.
“What?” Naoya scoffs, “I can’t go wherever I want in my own home?”
In swift steps, Megumi closes the distance to stand mere inches away from Naoya, looming over the slight man with his superior height (and build, Yuuji thinks, objectively speaking).
“No.” Megumi’s eyes harden. “Don’t trespass our personal quarters. You’re not welcomed.”
A disgusted look crosses Naoya’s face and he jeers, “A month in and you’re already high off of power? Don’t get comfortable—you bastard.”
Yuuji’s eyes widen, unblinking.
In a flash, Megumi snatches his collar and yanks Naoya down, forcing the smaller man to bend his knees. Looking down on him, Megumi darkly mutters, “You forget your place, Naoya.”
Then he leans in to whisper into Naoya’s ear. Yuuji cranes his neck to hear but catches nothing, curiosity eating him as he watches Naoya’s expression change from peeved to livid before breaking free to leave with a scowl.
“What did you say?” Yuuji asks anxiously, watching Megumi walk towards him.
“Nothing.”
Yuuji frowns. He hates being brushed off. It obviously was something, whatever he said to Naoya to make him react like that. Yuuji opens his mouth to press him, but Megumi beats him.
“Is breakfast done?”
Shit. Yuuji throws a look at the scattered ingredients behind him and the unattended clay pot of stew, feeling a wave of disappointment wash over him. “No, sorry. I was, um, interrupted so—"
“It’s fine,” Megumi cuts in, sounding not upset. “How much longer?”
Yuuji bites his lip, anxiety bubbling up. “Probably 15 more minutes? But, um, you have to go soon, right?”
He knows Megumi has tight schedules, and judging by the time, he should be attending a meeting soon. The thought of letting Megumi start his day on an empty stomach has Yuuji paling.
“No, I can be late,” Megumi says dismissively, picking up the forsaken knife. He gestures to the ingredients. “I’ll help, so let’s still have breakfast together.”
“Oh,” Yuuji breathes, stunned, “oh, okay. Are you sure?”
Megumi nods. “Yes. Now tell me what to do, I’ve never cooked before.”
A giggle escapes Yuuji before he can stop it, a warm tingling in his chest. “Figures you’ve been living a pampered life.” He grabs a second knife, but when he doesn’t hear an immediate response, he casts a questioning side-glance at his husband.
Megumi has a strange look on his face. When he catches his eye, he looks away to grab the nearest whole potato, then goes to mimic Yuuji’s cutting technique. By now Yuuji recognizes the signs, the end of a conversation, and lets it be.
The rest of breakfast is a quiet affair.
______
A week has passed since the incident with Naoya, and Yuuji feels like he’s made progress with Megumi, but also not.
He has a growing recollection of what Megumi likes to eat—notably the man loves ginger, yet has a vendetta against red peppers—but aside from that, little is learned about personal details. There are many things Yuuji wants to know, questions to ask, but he’s afraid to upset Megumi and come off as intrusive.
It doesn’t help that Yuuji’s inquisitive nature has always been one of his key traits.
Yuuji groans out loud, feeling torn by his emotions. He’s angry at Naoya—that crude piece of shit—for stirring up his unsated curiosity. And frustrated at Megumi for being a walking mystery.
With a huff, he grabs a bucket full of tools and heads outside from the main house.
He’s done with lessons and his daily household tasks so he has spare time to kill. During these free moments, he would explore the Zen’in compound and find things to occupy himself with to avoid dying of boredom. Recently, he discovered a pathway that led to a gem, a secluded garden behind the main house.
It’s a massive garden that encompasses a variety of trees and flowers, from sakura to hydrangeas to wild flora that Yuuji has never encountered before. There’s also a large pond that appears relatively deep, surrounded by artfully arranged rocks, moss, and stone lanterns. A serene haven full of nature.
Though, there are signs of disrepair—the thick layer of algae in the water, the overgrown weeds among the flowers, drooping tree branches. So like any good doer, Yuuji has made it his passion project to revive the garden and bolster the scene with the handful of landscaping tips he learned online.
Gardening has become an unexpectedly rewarding hobby, a great way for him to break a sweat and get a break from stifling tradition.
Megumi is aware of his DIY activities because after Yuuji showed up to their bedroom, caked in mud from head to toe, he had given him high-end gardening tools and suitable clothing the next day to support his interest (and probably to make sure he didn’t dirty their room again).
Yuuji gets to work right away, stripping off his loose top, throwing it on the engawa that overlooks the garden. In seconds, he loses himself as he single-mindedly gardens, troubled thoughts and feelings related to current circumstances vanishing like the dead roots he’s removing.
He loses track of time and only realizes lunch time has rolled by when his stomach growls obnoxiously, breaking his concentration. Looking over his shoulder, Yuuji realizes he’s not alone either.
“Megumi,” Yuuji calls out in surprise. “How long have you been there?”
“For a bit,” his husband replies, nonchalantly perched on the engawa. There’s a small tray of snacks and beverages beside him, readily prepared for two it seems. “Come eat, I’m sure you’re hungry.”
Yuuji happily goes. Plopping himself down on the other side of the tray, he grabs the glass of water and chugs it down, a thin stream trickling down his jaw.
“Ahh! So refreshing,” he sings with a bright smile, feeling invigorated. “Thank you, Megumi! How did you know I was here?”
“Hunch.” Megumi refills Yuuji’s glass and then hands him an onigiri. Scanning the garden, he marvels, “Wow, you’ve done a lot already. It looks nicer.”
At the unexpected praise, Yuuji feels himself blushing, a sense of pride filling him. “Ah, thanks! I work well with my hands.” He takes a bite of the onigiri, making a noise of appreciation as he chews.
“I see.”
Yuuji licks his fingers free of rice grains. He reaches for another piece when he notices Megumi staring at him, green eyes flickering from his hands to his bare chest. A rush of embarrassment hits him when he realizes he’s still shirtless, his pecs and abs on display and out in the open.
While Yuuji isn’t ashamed of his body, he is conscious of his scars and the differences between his body and his husband’s, his hard lines vs. Megumi’s slender frame. They’ve been changing in front of one another these days so it’s not like Megumi is exposed to a new sight. Although, they are in broad daylight so Yuuji wonders if his state is inappropriate for right now. Last thing he needs is to add more scandal to his name.
Hands switching direction, Yuuji quickly pulls his top back on. He peeks at Megumi, who shifts his eyes and appears almost…disappointed?
“So,” Yuuji clears his throat, “how come you're here? You don’t have a meeting?” He snatches another onigiri as Megumi picks up one too.
“No, I’m taking a break.” Yuuji thinks he must be making a dumb face because Megumi shoots him an amused smile. “What? You think I’m sitting through meetings all day? I actually spend more time avoiding them.”
Yuuji shrugs, a little sheepish. “I don’t know what you do.” He pauses, then admits, “Honestly, I don’t know you that well—but I want to get to know you.”
Megumi blinks, brows raised a bit, then his expression softens. “To your first point, I spend most of my day working on business deals. It’s difficult since Zen’ins are shit at building good relations, so been working on that too. And second, okay. You know you can ask me anything, right?”
“Now I do,” Yuuji murmurs, “but I get the feeling you hate talking.”
“I do,” Megumi bluntly agrees. “Especially with people who try to push their agendas onto me.” He shifts to capture Yuuji's gaze. “With you, I don’t mind. I like it when you talk.”
“Oh,” Yuuji mouths, a little breathless. He resists the urge to look away, ears burning hot.
That’s very good to know.
With a goofy grin, he shoots off, “Then you won’t mind if I ask you stupid questions? Like your favorite color? Or favorite drink?”
Megumi laughs out loud, a novel and refreshing sight to Yuuji. “That’s what’s been on your mind?”
“Well yeah—” Yuuji sputters, flushing as he points an accusing finger at Megumi, “—I mean, you don’t offer any information about yourself so how am I supposed to learn these things?”
“Fair enough,” Megumi concedes, eyes smiling with mirth. “Okay, ask away.”
And Yuuji does. Finally, he learns the answers to some pressing questions that have been plaguing his mind, demanding attention. Between bites of rice and sips of tea, they bounce responses off each other like it’s 21 questions. Yuuji relishes the personal tidbits Megumi shares.
-
“Favorite color?”
“Ocean blue. You?”
“Ah, I like yellow a lot!
-
“Do you like tea a lot?”
"Actually, I like black coffee more.”
"Seriously? I can’t, I’m much more an iced caramel latte guy.”
-
“Okay, serious. Dogs or cats?”
“Dogs. No doubt. They’re loyal.”
“Ohh, I get that. Are you gonna get dogs?”
“Maybe, I’m thinking about it. What about you?”
“I took care of a stray cat before. His name was Sukuna and he ran away.”
“Oh. That must have sucked.”
“Nah, it’s fine. He was a big jerk anyway.”
-
“Are you close with anyone here?”
“Mhm, I think Maki-senpai. She and I are similar."
“Oh! I like Maki-san! She throws a mean punch.”
A chuckle. “How do you know that?”
“Ah-ha, by accident.”
-
It feels liberating.
Now that Yuuji knows Megumi’s willing to indulge him, he doesn’t have to hold back anymore. Conversation feels so much easier. All the mundane, trivial things he thinks about, but never voiced before, come out like a flood. Megumi doesn’t seem annoyed.
Though, Yuuji bites his tongue when something more intrusive comes to mind, likely to cross the fragile line. Unlike Megumi, he’s an open book despite his best efforts, so it’s not a surprise when Megumi notices.
“What is it?”
“Huh?”
“You went quiet. Something’s bothering you, I can tell.” Megumi looks expectantly at him, repeats, “What is it?”
“Well,” Yuuji begins, hesitant, voice trailing off as he speaks, “I was wondering…”
“Just spit it out, Yuuji.”
“ ’kay, fine. Remember when we faced Naoya in the kitchen a while ago?” Yuuji fiddles with his hands, nervous energy making his voice falter. “He said—um, he said you were a bastard. Was there more to it—or am I just overthinking it?”
A drop of silence.
In the distance, cicadas noisily thrum with life and energy, but not loud enough to drown out the roar of Yuuji’s heart beating in his ears.
Another deafening second passes and Yuuji is about to completely backtrack, apologize, and run away when Megumi’s mouth curls into a smile.
“Yuuji, you’re more perceptive than I thought.”
“Uh, thanks?” Yuuji says, confused, then an offended gasp. “Wait, hey! You thought I was stupid, didn’t you?”
Megumi laughs and it breaks the ice, making Yuuji grin despite his uneasiness.
Pushing his bangs out of his eyes, Megumi sobers. “Yeah, Naoya wasn’t wrong in a way,” he reveals, “I was born outside the clan. My father was a Zen’in, but I took my mother’s name—Fushiguro.”
Yuuji’s eyes become impossibly wide. “Fu-shi-guro,” he mouths, testing it. “Fushiguro Megumi. Huh, hits different.”
Megumi tilts his head towards the sky, a faraway look on his face. “I grew up with that name. Being called Zen’in is still weird to me. Feels unreal.”
Yuuji doesn’t know how to respond to that (likewise, he’s still unaccustomed to being referred to as Zen’in), so he stays quiet.
“I only took on the name right before we married.”
Unbidden interest propels Yuuji to ask, “Why did you accept our marriage?”
Megumi shifts his gaze to meet his eyes directly. “Probably for the same reasons you did. It was a convenient solution.”
Wordlessly, Yuuji nods, because he doesn’t know what else to do.
It’s clear they both didn’t enter this marriage in the first place because a hot, wild romance bloomed between them, driving them to pledge their undying love for each other in the most sacred way possible.
They both have their reasons. Megumi looks like he doesn’t intend to divulge further, and Yuuji respects that. He’s not quite ready to share his own reasons, as significant or insignificant they are, so he certainly won’t press Megumi on his.
“But, I’m glad it’s with you.”
And with that, the shy, gentle smile that Megumi wears on his face, and the realization dawning on Yuuji that Megumi is displaying raw, unguarded honesty in front of him, a sign of truce—because of all this,
Yuuji thinks, it’s okay. This can work.
______
Later that night, Yuuji pulls out the futon and fluffs up the pillow more than usual, exhausted and mentally drained from the day’s events.
He’s ready to pass out, but he makes sure Megumi’s futon is prepared comfortably before he can set up his own. In the background, Yuuji hears the showerhead being turned off. After giving a quick look-over and finding his work satisfactory, he gets up to grab his bedding from the closet as the bathroom door opens.
Only one step is taken when he abruptly halts in place.
“Yuuji, do you want to sleep with me?”