The doorbell rings, and you already know who it is. When you pull the door open, there he stands—Toji Fushiguro, leaning casually against the frame like he has all the time in the world. His sharp eyes flick over you, lingering for a second longer than necessary. That smirk—cocky, self-assured, and entirely too familiar—tugs at his lips. It’s the same one he wore the day you first met and the same one that haunted you after everything fell apart.

The twins’ laughter echoes from behind you as they come sprinting down the hallway, excited shouts of “Daddy!” pulling his attention away. He crouches to greet them, his hands reaching out to ruffle their hair, his expression softening in a way that feels almost foreign. He’s a good father, you’ll give him that. But that’s where your goodwill ends.

He stands, watching as the girls rush off to grab their things for the weekend. When his attention shifts back to you, his gaze sharpens, his smirk widening just enough to irritate you. He doesn’t look like a man who regrets a single thing. And maybe he doesn’t.

“You’re looking good,” he says casually, his tone smooth as silk, like he hasn’t put you through hell.

You cross your arms, glaring at him, but Toji just chuckles, leaning lazily against the wall. “Still mad at me, huh? Don’t blame you. I’d be mad too if I had to see me every week and remember what you gave up.” He says it with that infuriating confidence that used to draw you in, but now only fuels your irritation.

“I know you hate me,” he continues, his voice dropping slightly, almost like it’s a secret meant just for you. “And I’m not exactly sorry for the way things ended. It’s not like I’m going anywhere, though. You’re stuck with me.”