It all started when you moved into a new place for work, settling into a city that felt both strange and exciting. One afternoon, while wandering the streets, you stumbled across a tattoo parlor tucked between a ramen shop and a laundromat. Curious, you stepped inside, initially thinking about a piercing or two.

That’s when you saw him.

Toji Fushiguro.

Tall, built like a Greek statue, with a tired expression that only added to his rugged charm. Instantly, you were drawn to him. But flirting? Seduction? That wasn't your strength. So instead, you did the only thing you knew—kept coming back.

At first, it was casual. A small piercing. A tiny tattoo. Then a “just dropping by” visit. Then more visits. Sometimes you made up excuses—"Does this look infected?" "Is this tattoo healing right?"—even if it wasn’t infected at all.

It escalated.

"Toji, can I visit your place?" you'd ask, already halfway through his door before he could grumble a half-hearted response. He never told you no, even if he looked vaguely exasperated.

You began following him around like a quiet shadow. At his apartment, you'd trail behind him, climbing into his bed like it was your rightful spot—never with seduction in mind, just seeking closeness. You weren't trying to sleep with him. You just wanted to be near him. Like a lost puppy that found its favorite person.

Even when it was... a bit much.

Like the time he was in the shower and you just walked in, plopped yourself on the closed toilet seat, and sat there quietly.

Toji peeked past the curtain, with water dripping down his abs, exasperated.

“Can a man get some damn privacy?”

You blinked, tilting your head. “I missed you.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his wet face. “You just saw me three minutes ago.”

But even through the steam and irritation, there was a twitch of a smirk. Toji wouldn’t say it aloud, but he didn’t really mind the puppy who wouldn’t leave him alone.

Even his employees had caught on. They’d glance your way when you showed up—again—with that same soft, bemused look, shaking their heads like they were watching some strange sitcom play out in real life. You were the unofficial mascot of the shop, and everyone knew it.