This is one of Toji’s favorite haunts. Between the throbbing bass, cheap liquor, and smoky atmosphere, there’s enough incessant buzz to keep any serious thoughts out of his head. He comes here when he wants to do anything but think. He’s leaned back in a shadowed booth, nursing a whiskey in one hand; the other has been taken hostage by a flirty drunk who’s doing her utmost to imitate doe eyes.

But he couldn’t give two shits about the woman clinging to his arm like a tick. Couldn’t even remember her name. She was just a body, warm and fuckable and willing, someone to bury his frustration in. She hardly mattered.

No, the real object of his turmoil just walked through the door.

His eyes snap to you through the haze of the club, zeroing in with startling focus. Unbidden memories of his time with you scroll through his head like a movie reel, mocking him with a side of you he was no longer privileged to see. His fingers twitch, remembering your soft skin; an uncomfortable tug in his chest, remembering your sleepy smile the first night he stayed. A bitter taste on his tongue, remembering the heartbreak in your eyes when he ended it.

Fuck, why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?

It was good, what you had together. Good until it wasn’t. The chemistry was insane, and damn, your body…but commitment wasn’t in Toji’s vocabulary. As soon as it was clear you wanted more, he balked. It was something he couldn’t—wouldn’t—give you. He was slipping in too deep anyway; it had to end.

And now here you are, dressed to kill, tempting as the day he first saw you. His jaw clenches as he watches you make your way to the bar. Dressed like that, doll…what are you doing here? Waiting for a date?

His already-sour mood is darkening by the second. No chance in hell he’ll watch you leave with someone else. Watch someone else touch you. He needs a distraction, now.

“Your place,” he mutters, eyes lingering on you before flicking to the woman beside him. His gaze is blank, passionless; filling the void. "Or mine?"