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Toji is still learning how to love. He never thought of himself as someone who was particularly good at it. If he’s being honest, he’s never really loved anyone before you—maybe that’s why love always felt unfamiliar, like something he was doing wrong without knowing how. But he can’t deny it—the feeling of loving and being loved feels good.
Maybe it was you, and your hundred and one ways of showing love, that slowly rubbed off on him. Or maybe he’d always had this in him and just never had anyone worth trying for. All he knows now is that he wants to love you properly.
The thought crosses his mind when you suddenly plop yourself down beside him on your shared, run-down leather sofa you both kept meaning to replace but never did.
Toji turns the TV volume down without thinking.
“Long day?” he asks.
He opens his arms, and you immediately settle into them, nuzzling your head against his broad chest. You take a deep breath, and the clean scent of laundry detergent from his shirt fills your lungs. It’s warm and cozy, like always. His chest has always been your favorite place to rest. As you ease yourself deeper into his embrace, a quiet sigh slips past your lips.
“Yeah.”
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The silence lingers, filled only by the low murmur of some random TV show Toji had put on. You’ve always loved moments like this. Every quiet second with Toji feels comfortable—it was never heavy, never suffocating.
You stay quiet a little longer before speaking again.
“Ji?”
“Hm?” His fingers gently rub slow circles into your shoulder. It’s very soothing you nearly drift off.
“Want you to do me a favor.”
“Just say it, baby.”
Before you, Toji never liked doing favors for anyone. He was often too tired to even do things for himself—so why would he want to do them for someone else? And yet, for you, he always complies. There’s something deep in him that makes him want to do anything you ask.
“Want you to run me a bath,” you say slowly. “…and help me bathe, maybe? ‘S that okay?”
His fingers pause for just a moment before resuming their movement. “Yeah.” He gently nudges you upright, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I got you, baby.”
Toji loves taking care of you, and he knows that he’s good at it.
You blink. “But you’re tired, too.”
“I know.”
“So you don’t have to—”
“Shhh.” His voice is soft. “I want to.”
With that, Toji lifts you into his arms and carries you toward the bathroom. He moves carefully, as if you’re something fragile. Slowly and gently, careful not to jostle you out of your sleepy state, he peels away each layer of your clothes. His touch is light, unhurried. You stay relaxed beneath his hands.
There was a time when undressing someone like this would’ve meant something else to him—something heavier, dirtier, driven by instinct. But this isn’t that. This feels innocent. And that’s something Toji learned after being with you. Before, moments like this almost always led somewhere physical. Being with you taught him that intimacy doesn’t have to end in sex. Sometimes, simply taking care of your lover, like helping them undress because they’re too tired to do it themselves, is intimacy on its own. And somehow, it feels just as good.
The bathroom fills slowly with steam. Toji tested the water with his hand again and again, adjusting it until it felt right. Not too hot, not too cold. He sets your towel nearby and folds it neatly, then lights the lavender-scented candle you bought last week.
All set.
When you step into the tub and lower yourself into the water, a long, shaky sigh escapes you.
Toji sits on the edge of the tub, hands resting on his knees. “Does it feel good?”
“Oh,” you sigh. “That’s peeerfect.”
He brushes your hair out of your face, watching you for a moment. He smiles, he loves seeing you relaxed. “Yeah?”
You nod, eyes already closing. “Yeah. Thank you so much, Ji.”
He smiles wider at the sound of you humming softly to your favorite song—something called Anyone Else But You, if he remembers correctly. He lets you soak for a while, watching as the tension slowly melts from your shoulders. After a moment, he reaches for the washcloth, soaks it, wrings it out, and holds it in his hand.
You noticed and smiled faintly. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
When you don’t move, he adds quietly, “Let me.”
You turn around.
Toji begins scrubbing your back the same way he does everything for you—thorough, unhurried, like there’s nowhere else he needs to be. His hands are rough, scarred, calloused from years of work, but whenever they touch you, they soften—careful not to remind you of their roughness. You love everything about Toji, including his hands, rough and gentle all at once.
He takes his time scrubbing you. If you asked him to do this all day, he’d probably be content.
You relax almost instantly.
“You know,” you say after a while, your voice lazy and loose, “there’s that saying.”
He hums. “What saying?”
You tilt your head back slightly, catching the familiar lines of your boyfriend’s face. In this very moment, he looks impossibly handsome. Warmth blooms in your chest. “That love means never having to scrub your own back.”
Toji pauses for half a second before continuing.
“Sounds stupid,” he mutters.
You laugh softly. “I thought so, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. But right now, I think I kinda get it.”
Toji doesn’t say anything, but his grip gentles even more.
“It means choosing to take care of someone,” you continue, leaning into his touch, “even when you don’t have to. Like what you’re doing right now.”
“Yeah,” Toji murmurs, unsure how else to answer, but knowing it makes him happy all the same. “Yeah—like me.”
His rough, calloused hands shift into a gentle massage, working the remaining tension from your back. The room falls quiet again, filled only with the sound of water and your breathing evening out.
“You good, baby?” he asks after a while, hands still moving.
You lean back into him. “Yeah. I am now.”
After nearly half an hour, the bath finally comes to an end. Toji wraps you in a big towel, drying you carefully, like you might shatter if he rushes. He pulls one of his shirts over your head—so big on you it nearly swallows you whole. He smiles at you, amused by how much smaller you look compared to him. The sight fills his chest with a sense of protectiveness. He then dries your hair until it’s warm and soft beneath his hands. By the time he’s done, your eyelids are heavy, your words slow and slurred when you speak.
Toji doesn’t waste any time guiding you to bed, pulling you close and letting you curl against him like it’s second nature. He rests his forehead against your hair and closes his eyes, breathing you in.
The room falls into complete silence. Toji assumes you’ve fallen asleep, so he lets you—holding you while quietly studying your beautiful face, as if trying to memorize it. One arm rests heavy around your waist, the other at your back, where his palm fits like it was always meant to be there. Your breathing evens out against his chest, soft and warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.
Every now and then, you shift—small, sleepy movements—and each time, he tightens his hold just a fraction, instinctively protective.
You shift again, your nose brushing against his collarbone. He feels you murmur something into it.
“Did you say something, baby?” he whispers. “Sorry—I didn’t catch you.”
“I love you, Ji,” you murmur, eyes still closed.
This year marks your second year together. You’ve said I love you countless times before, but for some reason, this one hits him the same way it did the very first time. Toji doesn’t understand what he’s feeling, or why it feels so overwhelming. He doesn’t have the words for what blooms in his chest.
He only knows it’s there because of you.
Toji smiles softly, lifting a hand to cradle your cheek. His eyes soften when he realizes you’ve already drifted off.
“I love you too, baby.”