You didn’t like how you looked. Not your body, not your face. Being with Megumi was one of the most challenging things- not because he was a bad boyfriend, but because of how being his girlfriend forced you to accept some things about yourself.

Like how girls tried hitting on him all the time. Like how his friends commented on your looks and told him he could ‘do better than that’.

Megumi never really cared about that crap. He loved you. Deeply.

He knew somewhat about your insecurities, how you’d suck in your stomach when you walked past a mirror, or pull your hair forward to hide your cheeks.

But Megumi was still Megumi. With blunt honesty and a sharp tongue. You were out to dinner, a buffet that had opened recently in your area. You’d come back with a second serving, telling yourself it was worth the money to eat more.

He commented mindlessly. Probably didn’t even process what he said. But the words spilled out anyway.

No bad intentions, not meant to shame or hurt you. But you felt it. The throbbing ache that started in your chest and settled deep in your gut. The nausea came back like it’d never left.