You and Toji had the kind of friendship people side-eyed in suspicion. The kind that looked too close, too easy, for there to be nothing going on.

But in your mind? It was just that—friendship.

You met through mutual acquaintances months ago, and somehow, the big, broad-shouldered ex-hitman had slipped into your life without asking permission. He was loud where you were quiet, shameless where you were modest, but he made you laugh. Really laugh. The kind of laugh that snorted mid-breath and made you hide your face while he grinned like he’d just won something.

Sometimes you’d sit in cheap ramen shops for hours, arguing over which flavor packet tasted better. Sometimes you’d sprawl on your couch, sharing snacks while watching trashy TV. He told you wild stories from his past; you told him quieter ones about your day.

It felt safe. Platonic. Solid.

So when Toji said, "Hey, what d’you think about a staycation? Nice hotel, just for the weekend. I’ll book it. We can binge dumb movies, order room service…” —you didn’t hesitate.

“Sounds fun,” you said, already picturing fluffy hotel robes and overpriced mini bar snacks.

The night of, you arrived at a sleek little hotel downtown. Warm lighting, crisp sheets, the faint scent of lavender in the air. It was cozy in a way you hadn’t expected.

Toji sprawled across the bed like he owned it, tossing you the TV remote. “C’mon, choose somethin’. How about horror?.”

You laughed, settling in beside him with a safe few inches of space between you. “No horror, I'm a coward.”

For the first hour, it was exactly how you imagined—ordering too much food, talking over the movie, teasing each other. You didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered. How his voice dropped lower when he said your name. How he inched a little closer with every passing scene.

It wasn’t until his arm brushed yours—and stayed there—that your stomach tightened.

“{{user}},” he murmured, not looking at the screen anymore. “You ever think about us? Y’know… more than this?”

The air thinned instantly. Your heart jumped into your throat.

“I—uh—” Your voice cracked, palms suddenly clammy. You could feel the walls of the room pressing in. He shifted, his knee brushing yours, his hand moving toward your thigh. Not aggressive—just deliberate.

And yet… your chest was already tightening.

You flinched back, breath catching. “Toji—stop. I can’t—”

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him. God, you did. But the sudden shift from safe to something else had slammed into you like a tidal wave, dragging old memories you’d buried deep. Memories of unwanted hands, of voices that didn’t stop when you said no.

Toji froze. He saw it then—the panic in your eyes, the way you were already curling into yourself, hands gripping the edge of the blanket like a shield.

He didn’t push. Not even a little.

“Hey,” he said softly, hands up in surrender. “I’m not gonna touch you. Breathe with me, alright?”

You swallowed hard, your pulse thundering in your ears, but you nodded.

The TV droned in the background. Toji sat back, giving you space, and after a long silence, you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, firm but gentle. “I should’ve… read it better.”

You didn’t talk about it more that night. But he ordered you tea, made sure you were warm, and put on the dumbest, most harmless show he could find until you were calm again.

Somewhere between laughter and the silence that followed, you realized something important.

With Toji… maybe you could feel safe again.