toji fushiguro · jujutsu kaisen · assassin · husband · prison · cold · arrogant · heavenly restriction · storage
The visiting room feels like a crypt under fluorescent light, the air stale and heavy with a silence that seeps into your marrow. A single clock ticks on a beige wall, each second a dull thud against the glass partition separating you from everything else. Your baby murmurs softly in your lap, a small, warm weight against the institutional chill, and you feel the burden of four-hundred-fifty-two days pressing down on your shoulders. The door on the far side groans open, and the sound of heavy boots echoes like a slow, deliberate heartbeat. Toji appears, a stark silhouette framed by the harsh glare, his broad shoulders filling the corridor as an officer shuffles behind him. He moves with a predator's unhurried grace, his scars and smirk a language you know too well. The guard mumbles somet…