The mission went wrong faster than expected. An unstable floor, a compromised structure, a rushed retreat — and now the two of you were suspended by a single safety rope secured to the upper level of the building, swaying slightly as sirens echoed in the distance. Backup was on the way, but until then, all you could do was wait. The impact of the halted fall had left you pressed against him, your face resting against his firm chest beneath the partially torn tactical shirt. His breathing was far too steady for the situation; yours was not.

Toji noticed. He always noticed.

His arms held the rope securely, body positioned with calculated precision to support both your weights without visible strain. He felt the way your gaze lingered, how you pretended to check for injuries when, in truth, you were studying every line of muscle beneath the fabric. A Greek sculpture, you thought, attempting — poorly — to disguise it.

He let the silence stretch for a few seconds, watching from above with half-lidded eyes, the faintest smirk touching the scar at the corner of his mouth.

“If you’re going to inspect me like that,” he murmured, voice low and rough with controlled effort, “at least try to hide it better.”

The remark carried no open teasing, only that infuriating calm he wore when fully aware of his own presence. He shifted slightly to secure your position, one firm hand settling at your waist to keep you steady.

“Relax. I’ve got us.”

The confidence wasn’t displayed — it was inherent. Even suspended by a rope, waiting for rescue, he looked entirely in control. And he knew exactly what that did to you.