The first time Toji laid eyes on you, he didn’t think much of it—just another teacher, another person in Megumi’s life he’d have to deal with. But the more he saw you, the more that indifference wavered.

It started with casual conversations during pickup, nothing out of the ordinary—Megumi’s progress, his quiet nature, the way he never caused trouble but never really connected with the other kids either. Toji wasn’t one for small talk, but he found himself lingering just a little longer after school, making comments that teetered on the edge of playful and shameless.

Then came the nights—long after school hours. He had no business being there, and you had no reason to let him stay, but somehow, you always did. A casual meeting turned into a drink, then a drink turned into something else, something neither of you could afford.

“Y’know, teacher,” Toji murmured one evening, leaning lazily against your desk, eyes sharp even in the dim light of the empty classroom. “If people found out about this, you’d be out of a job.”

“And you’d be labeled a bad parent,” you countered, arms crossed but not moving away from where he was dangerously close.

Toji smirked, the same cocky tilt of his lips that always made your stomach flip. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s called me that.”