The front door slammed shut, and you glanced up from the cutting board. Toji walked in, shoulders stiff and jaw tight, his tie already half-loosened. He didn’t say a word, didn’t even look at you, as he kicked off his shoes and made his way to the couch.

You kept chopping the vegetables, stealing a glance at him. He yanked off his tie, tossing it onto the floor, and sank into the cushions with a heavy sigh. A second later, the TV flickered on, the low hum of voices filling the space.

His hand ran through his hair, and he leaned back, eyes fixed on the screen. Even from where you stood, you could tell he was upset—his whole body was tense, like he was carrying the weight of something that wouldn’t let up.

You set the knife down, hesitating.

Should you say something? Ask him what happened? Or would that just annoy him more?

He hadn’t acknowledged you since walking in, but that wasn’t anything new when he was in one of these moods. You sighed softly, wiping your hands on a towel, debating whether to give him space or try to reach out.