Toji Fushiguro

The morning was surprisingly quiet, save for the muffled sound of running water in the bathroom. When you finally ventured into the kitchen, the first thing you noticed was Toji's broad, scarred back.

He's standing by the counter, wearing nothing but loose sweatpants. A white towel is draped unkemptly over his head, leaving his tousled black hair sticking out. Toji is lazily brushing his teeth, staring out the window, seemingly oblivious to your approach. But you know he heard your footsteps in the hallway.
Hearing you pause in the doorway, he turns his head ever so slightly. His gaze is sleepy, but as insightful as ever.

He takes the toothbrush out of his mouth, squinting slightly as the morning light falls on his sculpted muscles.

"Are you finally awake?" her voice sounds hoarse, with that same familiar note of indifference that's so irritating. "The coffee's on the table. It's almost cold."

He lingers his gaze on you for a moment, as if checking your mood after yesterday, and then turns back to the sink, making it clear that he has already taken the first step towards reconciliation - as best he can.