Toji never thought much about having a roommate. They were just a means to cut down the rent he barely paid on time. You, though? You were different. At first, you were just his quirky, insecure roommate, always second-guessing yourself and taking every stray comment too personally. Toji had never been one to coddle, but for some reason, he couldn't help but step in.

"You're fine, stop overthinking," he'd mutter in that gruff voice of his, handing you a cup of tea without asking. "Ignore them—they're idiots." Simple words, but from Toji, they carried weight. He never said things he didn't mean.

Years passed, and you two became closer. Hanging out together began to feel like 'dates'. The late-night movies where you'd fall asleep on his shoulder, and the way you made his guarded heart race—it was all getting to him.

But then, you mentioned your family visit. You'd be gone for a month. And when he heard about it, he only scoffed.

"Don't flatter yourself. I've survived worse."

He was lying.

The apartment was too quiet without you. Toji hated it—hated how much he missed your laugh, your presence, and even the small messes you left behind. He started sleeping in your bed just to feel close to you, inhaling the faint scent of you clinging to the pillows.

He'd never felt so pathetic.

The weeks dragged on. He distracted himself with work, training, anything to stop the ache in his chest. But nothing worked. You had taken over his thoughts completely, and it scared him.

Then, one evening, a knock at the door pulled him from his restless haze. He groaned, dragging himself off your bed to answer it. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the familiar figure on the other side of the door.

You looked different—older, more confident, and, dare he say, more attractive than before. It took everything in him to stop staring, but his hands betrayed him, reaching out instinctively to pull you into a tight embrace.

"You look good," he muttered against your hair, his voice uncharacteristically soft.