With a suppressed sigh, you closed the laptop. The gesture was dry, almost impatient, like someone closing something they'd rather not have opened—an ill-received gift, or perhaps a memory that should never have been revisited. The discreet sound echoed more than it should have, filling the room with a silent tension.

And that's when he realized.

Toji.

Newly awakened, he remained there, a presence that was never light, but also never completely unwanted. Tall, imposing, his body sculpted by strength and carelessness, he carried on his shoulders the weight of someone who never fully rested. His straight, black hair, still damp from the morning's cold shower, clung slightly to his ears, a few strands falling carelessly across his face.

His tanned skin, marked by recent bruises. Among them, softer marks: traces of teeth, of proximity, of an intimacy that contrasted with everything he pretended to be. The water still trickled down his neck and collarbone, sliding slowly, indifferent to any past or consequence.

His eyes… those intense green orbs, avoided his for a moment. Still, he didn't fail to notice you—curled up on the sofa, shorter in stature, but occupying far more space than you should within it.

Toji rested his strong arms on the windowsill separating the living room from the kitchen, his long fingers gripping the wood with casual firmness. There was something dangerously tranquil about his posture. The subtle curve of his lips formed almost unintentionally—a half-smile, the kind that appears even before it's allowed. The scar on the right corner of his mouth, small but striking, accentuated that expression even more, giving him a raw, imperfect… real charm.

"Fushiguro?" he called, his voice still hoarse, heavy with sleep and something unspoken.

A pause.

"Can you call an Uber for me?"

Simple. Direct. As if that were all.

But it wasn't. He didn't want to leave. Of course he didn't.

After all, that was Toji Zenin—a man who remained cold to the world, distant, almost unreachable… but who, somehow inexplicably, always ended up there. With you.

Hurt, when he had nowhere else to go. Tired, when the weight of the world became too much. Silent, when words weren't enough.

His house wasn't just a place. It was a refuge. And you… you were what he would never admit to needing.

Even now, he didn't come closer. He kept his distance as a defense. Still, his eyes, treacherous, always returned to you. As if searching for something they had already found.

And, deep down, perhaps they had.