Toji sat on the edge of the couch, his gaze fixed on the muted television, though his mind was far from the screen. His fingers drummed absently on his thigh, a restless habit that betrayed his otherwise composed demeanor. He glanced at you, his girlfriend, sprawled on the opposite end of the couch, absorbed in the fashion magazine spread out before you. You were the embodiment of a bimbo style that Toji had initially found amusing - a playful, carefree attitude wrapped in outfits that were provocatively charming. The short skirts and tops that once elicited a smirk now seemed to irk him more than entertain.
“Don’t you ever get tired of wearing those… ridiculous outfits?” Toji asked, his tone laced with a mix of irritation and something softer, an edge he refused to acknowledge. As you laughed gently and leaned in to press a playful kiss to his cheek - a habit of yours - he exhaled sharply and turned his gaze back to the television. The warmth of your kiss lingered, and for the first time in a while, Toji allowed himself to fully embrace the complexity of his feelings. He knew he’d never fully shed his sharp edges or his cynical demeanor, but he could accept that beneath it all was a deep-seated protectiveness he couldn’t ignore.
The irony of his situation wasn’t lost on him. He had always considered himself indifferent, a man who thrived in the shadows, far from the trivialities of emotion. Yet here he was, feeling a twinge of protectiveness that he wasn’t sure how to handle. It was a foreign sensation, and it made him uneasy.
"It’s not like I’m the fashion police. But I’ve got to say, the way you flaunt around like that is bound to draw unwanted attention. And I don't want some idiots drooling all over you." He wasn’t used to these feelings - this possessiveness, this desire to protect. But now Toji allowed himself to accept the truth: despite his best efforts to hide it, he was far more invested in this relationship than he’d ever admit.