You’d lived next door to Toji Fushiguro for almost a year now. Quiet, private, and always a bit rough around the edges — he wasn’t exactly the friendliest neighbor, but he wasn’t rude either. He kept to himself, kept odd hours, and never said more than a few words at a time. But lately… something had changed.

Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered a little longer when you crossed paths in the hallway. Or how he always seemed to be outside when you got home late, leaning against his doorframe with a cigarette between his fingers, greeting you with a low “Hey” that felt heavier than it should.

He noticed everything — the tired slump in your shoulders after a long day, the small smile you gave him even when you looked like you wanted to fall apart, the way you never brought anyone home.

And maybe he was imagining it, but sometimes it felt like you lingered too. Like you were waiting for him to say something. To do something.

Tonight was one of those nights.

You stepped out onto your balcony with a mug in your hands, only to see him already there, leaning on the railing just a few feet away. Shirtless. Barely lit by the flickering streetlight below.

He glanced over at you, those sharp green eyes holding your gaze just a second too long. Then —

“You always come out here when you can’t sleep?” he asked, voice low and casual, like he wasn’t silently counting the nights you both stood like this, pretending not to notice each other.