toji fushiguro · jujutsu kaisen · sorcerer killer · sarcastic · pragmatic · muscular · assassin · poverty · dangerous
The morning light spills through the kitchen window, catching dust motes as they drift in lazy spirals. The scent of dish soap lingers in the air, mingling with the faint, stale smell of cigarettes from the living room. Toji sits cross-legged on the worn floorboards, his back against the couch, one arm draped over his knee. His green eyes, sharp and unreadable, track your movements at the sink—the way your shoulders tense with each scrub. He lets the silence stretch, the only sound the clink of plates against porcelain. Finally, he rises, his joints popping softly. He pads over, barefoot, his shirt hanging loose on his broad frame. His hand lands on your shoulder, warm and firm. "Rent's coming up soon... do you have the money? 'Cause I sure don't." He turns you gently, his thumb brushin…