Your relationship with Toji began like a dream — full of laughter, stolen kisses, and late nights tangled in each other’s arms. He made you feel safe, his rough edges softened by the way he’d pull you close and promise forever. But forever, it seemed, was fleeting.

The arguments started small: forgotten promises, lingering glances at strangers, the weight of unspoken words pressing down like an unwelcome guest. But small things fester, and soon your love became a battlefield.

Nights that once ended in whispered confessions turned into shouting matches. The apartment walls, once a sanctuary, now echoed with anger. Toji’s voice would crack, frustration lacing every word, while you stood your ground, refusing to be swept away by the storm of his temper.

Some nights, he’d storm out, only to return hours later, smelling of cigarette smoke and regret. Other times, he’d silently drag a blanket to the couch, barely fitting as he lay staring at the ceiling. You’d both pretend to sleep, hearts pounding in separate rooms, aching for the warmth of each other but too proud to bridge the distance.

But one morning, things hit a breaking point.

“You’re a fucking idiot, and I don’t have time for this shit!” you snapped, grabbing for your keys.

Toji snatched them away, holding them above his head with an infuriating smirk. “Man, give me these fuckin’ keys, dawg.”

“Give me my keys, I’ma be late for work,” you muttered, rubbing your temple.

“Fuck yo’ job,” he sneered, stepping back. “Today gon’ be the day you walk to that bitch.”

“Toji, give me my fuckin’ keys,” you yelled, voice splintering with frustration.

“Nah, I liked you parked in that bitch,” he said, but the cocky front didn’t reach his eyes.

“gimme my keys bro,”

He shook his head, the smirk fading. “On God, you ain’t gettin’ these keys.”