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The thing is, Toji would’ve married her.
He had found it embarrassing back then. Mornings in which he would catch himself waking up before her, but after the sun. Light sneaking in through the threadbare curtains of her bedroom to highlight the frame of a woman who made a place for herself in the calloused hold of his hands and rested her own on the slow beat of the heart he’s been accused of lacking.
Looking at her cheek squished on a pillow, pushing her mouth into a delicate pink pout, her dark hair splayed over the pale curve of her shoulder. She’s beautiful, he thinks.
It was a borderline intrusive thought, out of place in the mind of anyone who grew up in the Zenin household. It was soft in all of the ways that he wasn’t.
Perhaps on its own it would’ve dwindled like a lapse of judgement, draining from his system like a royal flush would clear him out of his yen. But she is not the type of person to leave things alone. He’s known that since their first meeting in a grocery queue where he found himself a few yen short on frozen karaage when she offered him a blunt critique in his brand choice. Her ears had flushed red as she apologized for her rudeness and offered to make him karaage. An overcompensation in Toji’s opinion. It sounded like a poor attempt to take him home, but either way there was a 90% chance he’d get a meal out of it and wouldn’t have to shoplift. Because obviously that would be one of the worst crimes he’d have committed.
Karaage had turned into phone numbers. His constantly changing and hers subconsciously memorized. Her hand would tug him through market streets and under falling blossom petals. While also pulling him into her apartment with a crease in her brow as she wrapped split knuckles and kissed his hurts in a way he heard only happened between loved ones.
His body is for use. It has always been that way. Under Zenin eyes that deem him a disgrace or the half lidded gazes of women in bars, he’s cords of muscles threaded into an attempt of a person. It's a familiar thought, that he was born to be used. It is the reason that his senses are as sharp as they are and why his skin maps action stories. If he is to be used, he may as well use himself for his own desires.
But-
She doesn’t want to use him.
He would let her. If anyone was going to, he wouldn’t mind if it was her. Another intrusive thought. The feeling too jagged to be soft, having it pulled to his awareness rips something in him. It should be worrying how he doesn’t do much to stop it anymore.
At first he would frown to stop the easy way affection emanated from him for her, but she would only poke at his lips teasing that he’d grow wrinkles that way before kissing it away. Her lips soft and considerate, pulling away to ask if he’s alright before it has the chance to move any further.
It warms something in the pit of his stomach. Makes him hungry. Hungry for the way her hand cups his cheek and traces the sharp lines of his face. Hungry for the way her laughter dissolves into little snorts. Hungry for what she’ll give him.
She doesn’t question him on his trips away, the bruises that don’t hint at another lover, but of fights and a different vice. It’s an overcompensation, Toji thinks. He knows his worth and charges it, but there’s something valuable in the way she holds him. In the way she lo- cares for him that he can’t bring himself to refuse the same way he didn’t refuse her offer of karaage. He knows he’s a selfish bastard.
But she’s selfish too. Keeping him in the embrace of her arms and convincing hard muscles to untense in ways that should be lethal to a man in his line of work. He passes ginger cakes only to find himself buying a bag, already knowing the way she’ll try to hide her excitement despite the bounce in her step giving her away. She has the audacity to ask him what he wants when every lesson that he’s learned about how the world works has been etched into his very bones since he first learned of heavenly restrictions.
Like she doesn’t already know. Like the morning light doesn’t dress her in a glow like the universe highlighting the answer in case he missed it. Like the intrusive thoughts haven’t already made their home in his head like he made his in her apartment.
He wants her.
Toji has always been realistic. In a world where curses are the norm and he’s invited to look into all sorts of abysses for a fuck load of cash, when something feels surreal he tends to not trust it. Her kindness had been soothing, uncomfortable, and surreal. It was either fake or not going to last.
He’s coming back from a trip, this one longer than most, when one of his burner phones ring. It’s luck on her part. He was going to discard this phone as his routine goes, but it slipped his mind. It’s a little blessing in disguise. That sounds like something she’d say. Toji would just blame it on his concussion. In a few short moments he finds out that there was an accident, an emergency C-section, and he’s a father.
She had given his number when they asked who she wanted to call. She didn’t have much to say between her labored breaths, awfully selfish of her to call and expect him to carry the conversation. But he uses his body like he always uses it,for his own desires, and sprints his way to the local hospital.
They ask him what he wants to name his child on her deathbed. Despite the premature birth, the kid is healthy and ready to be brought ‘home’ wherever that might be . The thought he had earlier comes to him in her voice A blessing in disguise . It’s a load of bullshit, but the name Megumi falls from his mouth.
He leaves the hospital before the fact that he brought another Zenin into the world settles. He tosses the burner phone out and carries a baby in too calloused hands and thinks of falling blossom petals on his way to an empty apartment filled with baby supplies, half written letters, and ingredients for homemade karaage in the kitchen.
He won’t stay here long, a month at most. There’s a question that’s far too loud to his heightened senses floating around the room even though it’s lost its answer.
What do you want, Toji?