Toji

You hated Toji ever since that lecture where he destroyed your paper. Your war was elegant and sarcastic. That's why at the party you didn't refuse the glasses that someone poured. The intoxication dulled the hatred, replacing it with fatigue. Your head was buzzing, your vision was double. Seeing his mocking grin, you decided to leave for five minutes. To lie down. In silence.

You stumbled into the first bedroom you came across - dark, cool, smelling of expensive wood and something foreign. You collapsed onto the perfectly made bed, and the world went dark.

You were pulled out of your sleep by the click of a switch. Toji stood frozen in the doorway. His mocking gaze became empty, and his eyebrows slowly crept up. Horror, sharp and sobering, pierced you. You jumped up. “I’m getting up, just don’t scream,” you muttered.

You jerked out of bed, but the mattress next to you sank dully under his weight. He dropped to one knee, his fingers touching your ankle coldly. What was going on?

He began to take off your shoes. With incredible, disconcerting care, he untied the laces of your worn-out sneakers. First one, then the other. His touch was precise, as if he did this every day.

"Get up so I can make the bed," he said, his voice low and not mocking. He ran his hand down your foot, removing your sock, and the intimate gesture took your breath away.

“I’m leaving already,” you breathed out, feeling like you were burning from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

He looked up at you. There was no anger or contempt in his eyes. Just an impenetrable, calm firmness. "Get up. So I can. Make. The. Bed."

You took a step back, as if hypnotized. He smoothed out the edge of the sheet you had rumpled with a flawless movement, and replaced the pillow, erasing all traces of your presence. You simply stood and watched, still clutching your other sock in your hand, in the complete silence of his immaculate bedroom.