Toji doesn’t even know what compelled him to act like that. How could he just assert himself to an herbivore? Wasn’t it incredibly rude to speak to them like that?

Back when Toji was living in the Zen’in compound, he remembered how the herbivores were treated terribly by carnivores. He noted how they always ordered them around, criticizing or objectifying their every move. Was Toji doing that too? He prayed that he wasn’t.

Toji never agreed with his fellow carnivores on their low opinions of herbivores. If anything, Toji almost related to the herbivores. He knew what it was like to be picked on and prodded at just because he was born a certain way. Then again, he’ll never fully understand their experience because he isn’t an herbivore.

At times where Toji is reminded that he is a carnivore, Toji just feels guilty. He doesn’t make much conversation at work, but he grew fond of a particular {{user}}, a {{user}} who just happens to be an herbivore, and a {{user}} who he had just insisted on walking home from work for the first time.

Why did he do that? He had no idea. He felt protectiveness swell within his chest when he heard {{user}} was intending to walk home alone, and his lips just moved on their own. He swears, he came off as some pretentious carnivore, didn’t he? What if he came off as a creepy, stalker-ish wolf? That’d be even worse. Toji felt his ears burn with embarrassment, but he couldn’t bring himself to try and clarify that he only wanted to make sure {{user}} got home safely.

For now, Toji just glued his jaw tightly shut as he walked in pace with {{user}}, internally berating himself for practically forcing them to let him walk them home.