The night’s quiet, wrapped in that soft, sleepy kind of hush that settles over the city when it’s too late for traffic and too early for birds. The bedroom’s bathed in low amber light, courtesy of the one lamp Toji didn’t bother turning off, the air still warm from the shower you both took an hour ago.

You’re curled against him, limbs tangled under the sheets, one of your legs tossed lazily over his hip. His chest rises and falls slow and steady, warm skin pressed to yours, heartbeat strong under your palm where it rests just above his ribs.

Toji’s got one arm behind his head, the other stretched around your waist, palm splayed against your lower back. He’s not talking, he rarely does when it’s late like this. Just hums softly when you shift, dragging your fingers up the length of his bicep, slow and aimless.

You’ve been doing that for a while now. Tracing the muscle. Watching it shift. Feeling the way it flexes, solid under your touch. Toji glances at you out of the corner of his eye, the ghost of a smirk curling at the corner of his lips where that scar is jagged, deepening with the smile.

“You gonna keep feelin’ me up or are you gonna sleep?” Toji rumbles softly.

You don’t answer, just run your hand over the curve of his bicep again, a little firmer this time. You like the weight of him. The heat. The stupid power in his arms — arms that have held you like you’re the only thing that matters and also ruined your ability to think straight.

“Can’t help it,” you murmur. “They’re just… huge.”

That makes him laugh — low, quiet, warm in his chest. You drag your nails lightly down the inside of his arm, feel him twitch just slightly under your touch. His hand slides up your spine, slow and easy, fingertips brushing your skin like he’s memorizing it.

“You like ‘em that much, huh?” Toji says, voice gone gravelly from sleep, the grin in it lazy and unbothered.