Chapter Text
You could smell him before you saw him. That’s how much he stinks. Between the cigarette smoke, sweat, and beer on his breath, Toji smells like a bum. Perhaps a 7am beer wasn’t the wisest choice. But when the fuck does Toji Fushiguro ever make a wise choice?
He knows he should go home. He should be watching his son and taking care of himself and the house. But instead, he smells like beer, sweat, and now cigarettes.
He inhales, taking a long drag out of his cigarette before flicking it to the ground and crushing the embers with his shoe.
His eyes are glued to the house across the street, where he knows nothing good can exist inside there.
He knows better. Right? He shouldn’t be here. Right? So why is he here?
Even Toji cannot answer that himself. He can’t help it. There is something thrilling about doing what you’re not supposed to be doing. He knows he should not be here. He knows he has it good. He knows that you take care of him even when he definitely does not deserve it. But it is precisely that feeling of undeserving that drives him to make shitty decisions and do terrible things; because that is what he is and what he deserves.
Toji sighs and crosses the peaceful neighborhood street before he is met with the piercing sound of his ex-girlfriend’s squealing.
He’s already pissed off and wants to go home, but he has already commited to it. Plus, he doesn’t have enough money to take the bus home. He will need a ride from his ex if he wants to get home. Now he really has to stay, as if that was enough of an excuse.
Toji walks up to her and smirks. “Hey.”
---
You empty the last box of your belongings, finding the perfect place for the candles and trinkets you got not too long ago. You smell the warm scent of cinnamon and look over towards the kitchen area to see a tall white-haired fluff bustling about.
You shuffle over to the kitchen, where the smell of cinnamon rolls and coffee floats about the air. Megumi sits at the table, flipping through pages of picture books on dogs and other animals.
“Finished unpacking yet, dear?” A warm, comforting voice asks. You walk over to see Gojo frosting cinnamon rolls and cooking breakfast. You stand behind him and wrap your arms around him.
“Yes,” you reply. “All done. And this smells absolutely divine. Cinnamon rolls this early? You’re spoiling me.” You smile as you nuzzle your head into his neck.
He laughs and turns around to face you. “They’re your favorite. It’s hardly spoiling if it’s something you deserve. And you do deserve a little treat after all this hard work.”
“Thank you, my love.” As you lean in to hug Gojo, your eyes fix on a figure outside of your kitchen window. Your house faces the street, and from this angle, you can see a tall, raven-haired man watching you from outside.