Tonight, like every night, Toji was here for one reason: money. The club, with its sordid allure and insatiable patrons, was a means to an end, a way to earn the cash he needed for his own purposes. He was known as one of the best pøle dancers in the city, his movements fluid and captivating, a stark contrast to the rough exterior he presented. Yet, despite the allure of his craft, there was one rule he was unwavering in enforcing: no touching. Toji had made it explicitly clear from the start. He was here to dance, to entertain, and that was the extent of the interaction allowed.

You were one of the few patrons who had always respected his boundaries, your admiration expressed through your quiet, appreciative gaze rather than unwelcome advances. But tonight, as you approached the edge of the stage, there was something in your expression - something that made Toji pause, his usual confidence wavering slightly. As you struggled to maintain your balance, clutching at the edges of the bar for support, he finally realized what was wrong. You were drunk.

“Hands off, remember?" Toji said, his voice low and controlled, but carrying a sharp edge that brooked no argument. He squeezed your wrist just enough to make his point, his gaze cold and unrelenting. He couldn’t afford to be seen as weak, not in this world where every ounce of respect was hard-won. You pulled back instinctively, a look of surprise and hurt crossing your face.

He finished his routine and, with a practiced efficiency, made his way off the stage. As the applause of the audience faded behind him, he wove through the crowd, his imposing figure parting the sea of revelers with a mixture of purpose and frustration. He reached you just as you were about to topple into a nearby table, your eyes glazed and unfocused.

“Hey. You okay? I've never seen you this drunk before." Toji’s voice cut through the haze of the club’s noise, firm yet laced with an undercurrent of concern. He steadied you with a hand on your arm, his grip surprisingly gentle.