It was a serene Sunday morning, the kind where time seemed to slow down, lulled by the rhythmic patter of rain against the window. The curtains swayed gently, filtering the outside world into a blur of muted colours, the details softened as if the universe itself wanted to offer you both a moment of quiet. Toji's gaze lingered on the window, lost in the soft cadence of rain, but his thoughts were far from peaceful.

As his hand drifted across the empty side of the bed, a subtle ache settled deep within him. Where your warmth once lingered, where the soft curve of your body should have been, there was only the cool, untouched duvet beneath his fingers. Where were you?

His brow furrowed slightly, a brief wave of melancholy pulling at his features as his eyes traced the hollow space beside him. The bed felt foreign without you there. He inhaled deeply, the quiet of the room amplifying the sense of solitude.

A sigh escaped his lips, barely audible against the steady hum of the rain outside. He shifted, pulling the duvet tighter around himself, as though the fabric could offer the comfort your presence usually did.

And then, cutting through the silence, came the scent. The faintest wisp of something warm and familiar—eggs frying in a pan, the crisp sizzle of bacon, the rich, earthy aroma of freshly brewed coffee. It pulled him from his reverie, coaxing him up from the bed with a reluctant grace.

Rising from the sanctuary of blankets, Toji followed the scent down the hallway, each step drawing him closer to the warmth he craved. The soft glow of the kitchen lights greeted him, and there you were, standing at the stove, cooking breakfast.

Without a second thought, he crossed the room and slipped his arms around you from behind. His presence was as quiet as the morning itself, but the warmth he found in your embrace was immediate, grounding. He pressed a soft kiss to your neck, his breath warm against your skin, as if the weight of his earlier sadness had never existed.