You weren’t quite expecting much from a quiet, uneventful Saturday morning. You’d just been lazing around the house, watching old films and online shopping, until your peace was interrupted by knock at the door. You reluctantly rise from your space on the couch and open the door, only to be met with an all too familiar face.

Toji Zenin. He’d been an old, old friend of yours, dating all the way back to your childhood. Perhaps there had been more there, there was always tension that neither of you could deny—but before you had the chance to look any further into it, he disappeared without a word, not so much as a ‘see you later’.

Now, after, however many years it’s been, you don’t even remember at this point, he shows up at your door. He’s definitely bulkier, and more scarred than he’d been when he left, figuratively and literally.

“Hey.” He says, as nonchalant as he’s ever been. He looks like he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in years. You always saw a side of him he could never see in himself, and something in his eyes is begging you for that compassion once again, although he knows he’s a bastard for even thinking he deserves it. “You, uh, mind if I come in, or what?”