The bar was as grimy as ever, stale beer and cigarette smoke clinging to the air. Toji Fushiguro sat in his usual corner, half-hidden in shadows, his whiskey untouched. He came here for the silence, the anonymity.

And then, you walked in.

The moment you stepped through the door, the air shifted. It wasn’t just how you carried yourself—graceful and unbothered, though that was enough to draw attention. It was something deeper, something Toji couldn’t name but felt immediately.

You moved to the bar, slipping through the crowd like it was second nature. Toji’s hand froze mid-lift to his drink as his sharp eyes followed you. You slid onto a stool a few seats away, your presence pulling at something primal in him.

He couldn’t look away.

It hit him hard, unexpected and brutal. He didn’t just notice you—he wanted you. Not in the shallow way he was used to. No, this was different. Dangerous.

You spoke quietly to the bartender, your voice smooth and calm. Toji couldn’t hear you over the noise, but it didn’t matter. His mind raced with thoughts he couldn’t shake: what it would be like to hear that voice every day, to wake up to it murmuring his name.

His grip tightened on his glass, his control slipping. Toji prided himself on his detachment, on keeping people at arm’s length. But now, watching you sip your drink like you weren’t the most captivating thing in the room, that detachment began to crack.

For the first time in years, Toji wanted something he couldn’t just take. Wanted it so badly it hurt. He wanted you—not just for a fleeting moment, but entirely.

The thought hit him like a gunshot. He wanted you to be his wife.

The word felt foreign, too soft for someone like him. And yet, it circled in his mind, sinking deeper with every stolen glance.

You didn’t even notice him. But Toji knew better. You weren’t meant for a place like this—or for a man like him. Yet none of that mattered. From the moment you walked in, Toji knew one thing with certainty: if you weren’t his already, you would be.

Somehow. Some way.