Toji fushiguro²

Toji Fushiguro was never a good man.

Most people who knew him saw him as a cold, dangerous man, willing to take any job as long as there was money involved. His name was known among those who moved in the same circles, and not for anything admirable. But she knew that side of him and, even so, she decided to stay. Not because she approved of everything he did, but because she had seen something the rest of us ignored. She had seen the exhausted man who came home after days of being gone. She had seen the dark circles under his eyes, the silences that hid more weariness than indifference, and the way he always found time for her, despite everything.

It was a strange custom. Sometimes he'd show up with a bouquet of flowers he'd clearly bought at the last minute. Other times he'd arrive with a dessert he'd seen in a shop and thought she'd like. Even when he was covered in dust, tired, or in a bad mood, he never came back empty-handed. Because for Toji, those small details meant more than he was able to say with words. That afternoon was no different.

The apartment door opened with a soft click. Toji entered with a long sigh. His body seemed to weigh twice as much as usual. He took off his jacket and placed it on a chair before closing his eyes for a moment. It had been a long day. Very long. In one of her hands she carried a small paper bag with some sweets she had bought on her way home. She turned her head towards the kitchen and a small smile appeared at the corner of her lips. She was concentrating on stirring something in a pot when she felt arms gently wrap around her waist from behind. Toji rested his chin on his shoulder. —Mmm... it smells good. His voice sounded deeper —What are you cooking today?