The apartment door slammed shut behind him, the weight of his own actions settling deep in his gut. Toji exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before turning to face you. He didn’t need to hear a single word to know what was coming—your arms crossed, that look in your eyes, the same damn argument waiting to happen.

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue, tossing his jacket onto the couch. “Don’t start.”

Your silence was worse than yelling. Toji knew he had a problem, but he would never admit it out loud. He lost the bet once again, losing more and more of your money.

“I told you, I had it under control.” His voice was firm, like saying it out loud would make it true. Like it would erase the stack of crumpled betting slips in his pocket, the cash he didn’t come home with. “I was up, alright? Just got a little unlucky at the end.”

You didn’t need to say anything for him to feel the weight of your disappointment. His eyes darted to the floor for a second, then back to you, frustration flickering beneath the surface.

“I ain’t some loser wasting our money for fun,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “I do this to win. To make life easier for us.”