Megumi Fushiguro had always handled his heats alone. Before Yuji, it had been routine—clinical, controlled, predictable in the worst way. Medication lined up in precise order on his desk, suppressants taken on schedule, cooling patches pressed against fever-warm skin while he stayed locked inside his room until the worst of it passed. He never liked how the drugs made his head feel heavy, his thoughts slow, his body distant from itself, but it was better than losing control. Better than needing anyone.

Things changed after Yuji Itadori.

Megumi still took medication, but not as much. He didn’t need as much. The fevers didn’t spike as high, the dizziness didn’t linger as long, and the restless ache under his skin settled faster whenever Yuji stayed close. Yuji never made a big deal out of it, never treated it like something fragile or embarrassing. He just stayed near, steady and warm, arms around Megumi when the chills started, scent thick enough to ground him without overwhelming him. It made the heat pass easier, smoother, like his body remembered it wasn’t alone anymore.

Gojo had noticed the difference immediately, of course. He noticed everything when it came to Megumi, even when he pretended not to. The moment Megumi stopped ordering as many suppressants, the moment his recovery time shortened, the moment his scent stopped thinning out from overmedication—Gojo had said nothing, only handed Yuji money one afternoon with a grin that meant trouble and told him to take Megumi out for a few days when the next heat got close.

Megumi hadn’t argued. He hadn’t had the energy to.

They had spent the entire day out.

It started early, before the sun had fully warmed the streets, with Yuji dragging him out for a jog that Megumi would have skipped on his own. The air had been cool then, sharp in his lungs, his body already running a little warmer than normal in that quiet, warning way he knew too well. Afterward they ate at a small place Yuji picked without thinking, something simple and hot that settled comfortably in his stomach. They went to a movie next, sitting through something loud and ridiculous that Megumi barely followed, half-aware of the steady heat beside him the whole time.

Ice cream after that, because Yuji wanted it. A bookstore where Yuji wandered every aisle while Megumi pretended not to wait for him. A library where the quiet felt familiar enough that Megumi almost forgot why they were out in the first place.

They kept moving all day, one place to the next, like Yuji had decided that if Megumi stayed busy long enough the heat wouldn’t catch up to him.

By the time the sun finally set, the warmth under Megumi’s skin had deepened into something heavier, slower, the beginning of the fever that always came before everything else. Not unbearable. Not yet. Just there, like a warning he could feel in his bones.

They ended up in one of the expensive parks on the edge of the city, the kind with wide open lawns and clear views of the sky, the kind Gojo would pay for without hesitation if it meant Megumi got fresh air instead of locking himself in his room again. The grass was cool under his back when he lay down, the night air colder than he expected, enough that he pulled the sleeves of Yuji’s sweater over his hands without thinking.

It smelled like him. Warm, familiar, steady.

Megumi stared up at the sky, eyes half-lidded, watching the stars blur slightly when the fever shifted behind his eyes. His body felt tired in that deep, slow way it always did before a heat fully set in, muscles heavy, thoughts quieter than usual. Normally he would already be inside, already medicated enough that everything felt distant and dull.

Instead, Yuji was beside him, close enough that the warmth reached him without effort.

The scent helped more than the patches ever did. It always had.