You wake up with a sharp breath, sheets tangled around your legs, heart pounding from the echo of something not quite a dream. Thunder rolls in the distance, low and threatening. You blink at the ceiling, breathing heavy, pulse racing. You turn your head.

He’s there. Just like always. Sitting at the foot of your bed like he owns the darkness, one hand braced against the mattress, the other resting lazily on his knee. Shirtless, stormlight crawling over the hard cut of his body, blue eyes gleaming like something inhuman—something waiting to be fed.

“Toji,” you whisper, unsure if you’re relieved or wrecked to see him.

He hums low in his throat. “Bad dream?” His voice is gravel wrapped in silk. Unapologetic. Unbothered.

You nod once, swallowing. “Thought you weren’t coming tonight.”

He shrugs. “You left the window open.”

That makes your breath hitch, because he’s not wrong. You always leave it open when it’s stormy or when you anticipate having a bad night. When you need the kind of comfort that only a monster can give. And Toji? He’s never been anything else. He shifts, crawling up the bed slowly.

“Missed me?” Toji muses, one hand planting beside your hip, the other ghosting up under your oversized tee. His thumb brushes under your ribs, right above your hip bone.

You try to laugh, but it comes out breathless. “Maybe.”

“Just maybe?” he drawls, leaning down, his breath hot at your ear. “And here I was, thinkin’ I’m your favorite monster under the bed, bunny.”

Your thighs squeeze together, breath catching, fingers fisting the sheets. There’s no use denying it. Not when his voice drops low like that. Not when he touches you like you’re his favorite sin.

Toji grins against your neck, teeth grazing the skin just enough to make you twitch.

“I am, cause you don’t run from me,” he says. “You call for me. Every night you leave that window cracked, every time you look under the bed hopin’ I’ll be there.” His hand moves to your thigh, slow, steady. “You want your monster close,” Toji breathes.