Toji Fushiguro had never been the type to let something—or someone—get under his skin.

But lately, you’d been in his head in ways he sure as hell hadn’t asked for.

The dreams started a few nights ago. Vivid. Too damn real. The kind that left him waking up hot, breath heavy, fingers twitching with the ghost of a touch he hadn’t actually felt. The kind that made it harder to look you in the eye.

And now, here you were, stepping out of your apartment just as he locked his own door. Like fate was testing him.

You smiled when you saw him. “Morning, Toji.”

His jaw tightened. His grip on his keys did too.

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice rougher than usual. “Morning.”

He followed a step behind as you walked toward the elevator, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. Normally, he wouldn’t give a damn about proximity—wouldn’t think twice about standing close.

But after last night? After the way you’d had your legs wrapped around him in his head, all soft sighs and half-lidded eyes?

Yeah. Distance seemed like a good idea.