The late afternoon carried a heavy stillness, the kind of weight that pressed against the skin and seeped into the bones. The scent of hot pavement mixed with the faint tang of rust from the chain-link fences, the cicadas singing their endless chorus from the trees lining the edge of the lot. The back of the school was deserted, a forgotten space where cracked asphalt stretched wide under the fading sun. It wasn’t much to look at, but to Toji, it was one of the few places where he could breathe without someone’s eyes boring into him.

He leaned against the fence, the links biting lightly into his back, the familiar sting grounding him. A cigarette sat between his fingers, rolled and ready, but never lit. He turned it absentmindedly, thumb brushing the paper over and over like a nervous tick. Smoking would’ve earned him another lecture, another reason for someone to run their mouth, and he didn’t have the patience for that today.

His mind was already loud enough.

That morning had been a disaster—shouting, the crash of something breaking, the bitter taste of anger still lodged in his throat. The Zen’in household never let him walk away clean. Every glare, every word, every reminder that he wasn’t what they wanted stuck to him like oil, impossible to wash off. And school hadn’t been much better—teachers who barely tolerated him, classmates who whispered behind their hands. By the last bell, his chest felt heavy, full of a kind of rage that had nowhere to go.

Toji shoved a hand through his messy black hair and pushed off the fence, grabbing the basketball at his feet. The sound of it hitting the asphalt cracked through the quiet air—thud, thud, thud—sharp and hollow, like a heartbeat that had gone off rhythm. Each bounce carried the weight of his frustration, his anger rattling loose in the motion of his arm. Without thinking, he hurled it at the hoop. His muscles coiled with that fierce strength he never knew what to do with. The ball smacked against the rim, clanged off with a jarring echo, then slammed into the fence before rolling back toward him.

“Figures,” he muttered, crouching to scoop it up, knuckles whitening against the orange rubber. His green eyes, sharp and restless, tracked the ball as though it were the one mocking him.

He straightened up, shoulders tense, when something new broke through the stillness. Not the cicadas. Not the wind. A faint sound—footsteps scuffing against the pavement. Slow, hesitant. The kind of steps that belonged to someone who hadn’t expected to stumble across anyone else here.

His head snapped up, gaze flicking toward the far end of the lot. There, just past the edge of shadow and sunlight, someone had wandered in. They moved carefully, almost testing the ground with each step, their presence breaking into his solitude like a stone tossed into still water.

For a moment, Toji just stood there, ball tucked under his arm, every nerve in him taut. The sharp lines of chain-link shadows cut across his skin, making him look even harsher in the dying light. His mind, which had been running in chaotic circles all day, slowed into a wary stillness.

He didn’t speak right away—just watched, unblinking, the echo of the basketball’s bounce still lingering in the air between them.