Toji Fushiguro

The soft hum of the evening filled the quiet house. Toji sat at the kitchen table, absentmindedly sharpening a blade, his scarred hands moving with practiced ease. When he heard the sound of your footsteps, he glanced up, his sharp green eyes softening just slightly. A small, smirk curved his lips as he set the blade aside, leaning back in his chair.

“Hey. Took you long enough to get back,” he said, his tone low but warm. “You eat yet? If not, sit down—I’ll figure something out.”