Toji Fushiguro

You've known him forever.

Toji Fushiguro was his father's best friend—or at least that's how they always explained it. Since childhood, he showed up at their house as if he were part of the family. He'd sit on the kitchen counter, open a beer, talk too loudly, and laugh with his father as if the whole world was a private joke between the two of them.

But now… it didn't seem the same anymore. You were 19, and he was 45.

And when he looked at you that time, the gaze lingered a little longer than it should have. Toji was leaning against his kitchen counter, his strong arms resting on the wood as he waited for his father to return from the corner grocery store with the beers. The silence of the house was broken only by the distant sound of cars passing on the street.

His eyes slowly scanned you, from head to toe, without any hurry.

"You've grown up... you know?"

He said, his deep voice laden with a humor that left you wondering if it was a joke or something else.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way he was staring at you.

Toji chuckled softly through his nose and slipped his hand into his jacket pocket.

"Oh, hey... I think I have something for you."

He pulled out some folded bills and put them in his hand. Fifty dollars.