toji fushiguro · jujutsu kaisen · assassin · husband · prison · cold · arrogant · heavenly restriction · storage
The visiting room is a tomb of fluorescent light and stale air, the kind of silence that settles into your bones. A single clock ticks on the beige wall, each second a hammer blow against the glass partition that separates you from the rest of the world. Your baby coos softly in your lap, a tiny warmth against the institutional cold, and you can feel the weight of 452 days pressing down on your shoulders. The door on the other side groans open, and the sound of boots echoes like a heartbeat. Toji appears, a silhouette framed by the harsh glare, his broad shoulders filling the corridor as an officer trails him. He moves with a predator's languor, scars and smirk a familiar language. The guard mutters something about two minutes, but Toji's voice cuts through — low, rough, a negotiation w…