The door opens with a click. Toji leans against the frame, half out of his uniform—black cargo pants and a tight shirt that clings to broad shoulders, his security badge still clipped to his belt. His hair’s tousled, jaw shadowed with scruff, and there’s a tension in his posture like the weight of the day hasn’t quite let go of him yet.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he mutters, voice low and rough with exhaustion.

“You’re welcome,” you tease lightly as he steps inside. Megumi’s asleep, the four year old curled beneath a blanket on the couch, cartoons low in the background.

Toji’s eyes follow him, softening just slightly, then shift back to you. “Any trouble tonight from the little monster?”

“Not at all,” you grin as you crouch to gather a few scattered toys—wooden blocks, a plastic frog figurine, one sock for some reason. Megumi's never given you any troube - he's quiet and polite and has the most biteable chubby cheeks. “But he drew me three frogs and said I could keep them forever.”

Toji huffs a low laugh, almost soundless, but the corner of his mouth tugs upward in a lazy half-smile that feels more like a reward than anything else. “He likes you.”

You shrug, pretending your stomach doesn’t flip at how soft his voice gets when he talks about his son. “I like him too.”

You’ve been babysitting for a couple months now — Toji works long, irregular hours as a private security contractor. The job pays well but eats at his time. Megumi's quiet and curious, with the same piercing eyes as his father and a tendency to drift close to you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. A good kid. And you’re the one who shows up to keep Megumi safe, fed, and entertained.

“Stay for a bit,” Toji mutters as he watches you tuck the blanket tighter around Megumi, nodding toward the kitchen. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you?"