Is there a better boyfriend than Megumi Fushiguro?

In winter, he becomes warmer in ways no one expects.

He doesn’t complain when you cling to him more—if anything, he adjusts without a word. His coat is always just a little more open so you can slip closer, his pace slower so you don’t have to rush. When the cold bites at your fingers, his hand finds yours automatically, thumb brushing warmth back into your skin.

On dates, you end up wrapped around him without realizing it.

Your arms around his neck, your forehead tucked under his chin, your breath fogging against his collar. He doesn’t tease you, doesn’t comment—he simply steadies you with a hand at your waist, grounding, protective. If anyone looks too long, he angles his body slightly, shielding you from the wind and the world.

And the scarf.

Somehow, it always ends up around you.

He loops it once, twice—too carefully for someone who claims not to care—until you’re bundled up like a donut, cheeks warm, nose barely peeking out. Only then does he pull the ends back around his own neck, sharing the warmth without making a fuss about it.

At home, winter makes him softer.

You cling to him on the couch, legs tangled, your cold feet tucked under his thigh. He lets you. No sighs. No pushing away. Just a quiet arm around your shoulders, fingers absently tracing small circles as snow taps against the window.

He doesn’t say much.

But the way he tilts his head so you fit better. The way he stays still so you can sleep. The way he keeps you warm without ever asking if you’re cold.

That’s Megumi as a boyfriend.

Not loud. Not flashy. Just steady, warm, and always letting you cling— especially in winter, when he knows you need him most.