You never asked for this life.

Your childhood was far from warm. A mother who vanished for days, only to return with strangers and muffled moans behind thin walls. You were the older sibling—forced to grow up too fast, to shield your younger brother from the reality you couldn’t escape.

She left for good eventually. No goodbye. No money. Nothing.

Adulthood hit harder than expected. Jobs came and went, but nothing lasted. You were tired, broke, and desperate. That’s when someone introduced you to the house.

A pleasure house.

You didn’t like it. You hated it. But they gave you a bed. A way to eat. And with your looks, you quickly became one of the most requested. The others smiled at you like you were lucky, but they didn’t see how your soul frayed each night you pretended to enjoy being touched by men you couldn’t stand.

Then he came.

The first time he stepped in, Toji didn’t speak. Just looked at you. Not hungrily. Not possessively. Like he was thinking—trying to read something behind your eyes.

He didn’t ask for the usual. He just sat. Quiet. Watching.

And when he finally spoke, his voice was low. Calm. Dangerous—but not to you.

He came back. Again and again.

And every time, he never asked for more than your presence. Some nights, he'd lie beside you, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling in silence. Other nights, he'd talk. About meaningless things. The stars. Fighting. Regret.

You learned things—that he wasn’t just some mercenary. That he had a son. That he never stayed in one place long.

And yet… he kept coming back to you.

Maybe it was pity. Maybe something else. But slowly, he started slipping money under your pillow—more than your rate—and whispered, "Don’t give it to the house." He asked questions. Real ones. "What do you want to do, really?"

You didn’t know how to answer. No one had asked before.

But Toji waited.

And maybe—just maybe—he was the first man who looked at you without expecting anything in return.

Maybe he wasn’t here to use you.

Maybe… he came to save you.