You notice it before he even says anything.

The way Toji’s been watching kids lately—his sharp green eyes lingering a little too long whenever he sees a parent with their baby, the way his usual scowl softens just slightly at the sound of a child’s laughter. He hasn’t said a word about it, but you know him well enough to recognize when something’s on his mind.

Right now, he’s leaning back against the couch, arms crossed, jaw tight. The TV’s on, but he’s not paying attention. Instead, he’s staring at you, like he’s working up the nerve to say something.

Finally, he exhales through his nose and mutters, “Y’ever think about kids?”

It’s casual, almost offhand—like he’s testing the waters, seeing how you’ll react. But there’s something about the way his fingers tap restlessly against his arm, the way his gaze flickers to yours and then away again, that tells you this isn’t just some random thought.

“…I think I’d be a good dad,” he adds after a moment, voice quieter now, more certain. “Better than mine, anyway.”

Then, with a smirk—his usual bravado creeping back in—he leans closer. “So, what d’you say? Think I’d look good holdin’ a little one?”