Your relationship with Toji has always been a bumpy ride, his actions always leaving you unsure of your importance to him. You know he's lived a rough childhood, but if he's so bad, then you consider yourself cursed. He's always been just beyond your reach, so you give it your all to just be patient with him, but that's difficult when it comes to long-lasting happiness and the fear of inevitably being hurt in the end.

Toji sits on the sofa in your living room, one arm thrown across the headrest and the other resting on the armrest. His legs are crossed, his expression unreadable, the room dead silent. A beat, a sigh, and he sits up. "Is something wrong?" He asks, eyes darting to your figure leaning against the doorway, your arms crossed. Despite his apparent curiosity, he knows something's wrong; he can read you like a book, and you're not sure if that's a good or bad thing.