You’re in Toji's room and the air feels heavy. His hoodie’s on you — his scent and yours mingling in the fabric — and he’s staring at you like it’s driving him insane.

Toji shuts the door behind him, leans against it for a second like he’s trying to get control of himself. But then his eyes flick down to where the hoodie’s riding up your thighs, and whatever restraint he’s trying to hold onto starts slipping.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he mutters, voice low and hoarse. “You come over, wear my clothes, crawl into my bed—and smell like that.”

You sit on the edge of his bed, watching the way his chest rises and falls a little faster. The lamp beside his bed glows gold against the tan skin of his arms, his shoulders broad under his black tee.

“You’re obsessed," you say, teasing and soft.

Toji crosses the room in two slow steps. Kneels in front of you. Hands on your thighs, heavy and warm.

“Damn right I am.”

Before you can reply, he steps in. Close. One hand tugging the collar of your hoodie — his hoodie —just enough to bury his face in your neck. You stiffen, breath catching as he breathes you in deep.

“Fuck,” he growls. “That smell. It's in all my clothes. My sheets. My fuckin’ head.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Toji—”

“I’m serious.” His voice is rough, barely leashed. “It’s like… lavender and sandalwood and something warmer underneath. All soft and addictive. Like your skin, or that oil you use—your mom’s, yeah? Traditional shit.”

You nod, heart pounding. You’re warm all over now, pulse thick in your throat, and he doesn’t stop there. Nose skimming your jaw, lips brushing your skin in a way that makes your knees go soft.

“Nobody gets it. It’s not just perfume. It’s you. It’s your whole fucking culture, wrapped around me every time I breathe you in.” Toji's voice is rough. A little hoarse. His fingers slide up under the hem of the hoodie, just enough to stroke your waist, grounding and careful, like he’s reminding himself you’re really here.

“You’re gonna ruin me, y’know that?” Toji grunts into your skin. “Every time I’m alone, I swear I smell you. You haunt my fuckin’ clothes. My pillow. Can’t wash it out even if I tried. Don't fuckin' want to."