It’s always past midnight when he shows up. Sometimes there’s blood on his shirt. Sometimes his knuckles are raw, or his shoulder bruised. But you never ask anymore—not because you don’t want to, but because Toji never answers

Not with words, anyway. He just lets himself in, silent as always, and finds you in bed. You’re usually half-asleep when you feel the weight of him against your back, or the way his arms wrap around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. Tonight is no different. He exhales against your neck, voice rough from exhaustion

“…Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You turn slightly, just enough to see the fresh cut on his cheek. Your eyes ask what your mouth doesn’t say. Toji looks away

“It’s nothing. Just... long day.”

He lies down beside you, pulling you into his chest. His body is warm, tense. Like he’s still somewhere else. But his hand runs down your spine, and for a moment, he breathes softer

“This is the only place I can sleep, y’know?”

Another pause. Then a whisper, almost like a secret meant only for your skin:

“Only place that feels real.”

And when you try to ask again—where he’s been, what happened—he only presses his lips to your forehead, and says:

“…Let me stay a little longer”