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mostbored69 · 2 months ago

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Between Warm Light and Buzzing Fridge (Toji x Reader)

A loud bar and turbulent drunk people may not be the best stage for grief. Common sense, even for the man that had dragged you here in the first place. But Toji Fushiguro remains confident in his unusual ways of consolation, over and over pushing the idea of going out and using whatever distractions the city had to offer. You haven’t yet told him the full extent of last week’s argument with your boyfriend - now ex -, and how the relationship had ended when you became so distant. To him, you’ve just been holed up in your apartment after a disagreement, to do whatever women did to recollect on their own. He’d given you space. Or his own definition of it, before deciding it was time to drag you back out into society.

It could’ve been a selfish desire. Between convincing you to go out and actually getting to the bar, he was confronted by thoughts of seeing you come undone, laugh and maybe dance just provocatively enough for only him to pick out. It might not be your consolation after all, but his own from the very start. Dangers of his work stack up on the daily, like a hellish chainreaction of overlapping threats. Seeing you carefree might translate to himself.

All occasions of this exact method to calm his nerves worked reliably. All but tonight’s. You sit on the stool, blinking at the cold bottle of beer in your hands and facing the pool table that he’s leaned over. Maybe if you got home fast enough tonight, there’d still be time to watch an episode of that horrendous show you had catched on tv some days ago. Energy is sparse these days, however. You couldn’t stay up too late or too long at a time. Work drains you most days before heartache could even try. But that stupid, stupid show you liked for a reason or-

“Mmh, so quiet today. Cat got your tongue or is the boy toy still on your mind?” Your eyes meet for a couple seconds before he cracks his neck and sinks the ball, though you avert your gaze when he begins to walk over. “How serious of a fight could it have been? I can’t imagine that sorry excuse for a man getting confrontational,” he smirks and holds out the cue stick for you to grab. A sigh leaves your lungs before taking a sip of the beer and exchanging the items in your hands. As you walk to the pool table, he lifts the bottle to his lips.

“May I brood over it without reason, please? And besides,-” you begin, positioning yourself to pocket the next ball. He’d shot the cue to sink his own, but it also aligned perfectly for your next shot. “-don’t you have stuff to worry about? I see the scar, Toji.” Pointing to your collar, he looks down at his own. The smirk on his lips grows, and he lids his eyes.

You aren’t entirely sure why you haven’t told him about the breakup. Having been friends for as long as you have, it should be second nature to tell him immediately. You’ve done so before, too. And it’s not like he handles these rants and phases horribly. The complete opposite, to be fully honest. When you had lost an important client after spending nights upon nights doing overtime, he knew how to handle your frustrations. Not particularly in the most ordinary ways, but he showed his own kind of consideration in taking you to that abandoned house. Breaking stuff was fun, you realized that night.

But after his name fell from your ex’s lips one too many times during the fight, it was hard to tell him any details.

“What? You concerned or something?”, he taunts, voice as raspy as ever. You take the shot and fail to sink the ball, but at least that calls the end of your turn. Handing the cue back to him makes you look into his eyes, which sets off an unexpected wave of melancholy that was extremely hard to place. You’ve sat with heartbreak for a while now. This, however, felt different. Maybe less sad but more… bittersweet. Whatever it may be, it’s not currently welcomed.

“And what if I was concerned?” The remark lacked any real snark, and is instead followed by a sigh. You look around the bar until your eyes land on the sign for the restroom. “I’ll be back. Don’t finish my beer or I’ll give you another scar,” you emphasize, turning and leaving for the women’s room.

Luckily, there’s not too big of a line, and soon enough you find yourself sitting in one of the stalls with your head in your hands. It doesn’t exactly happen often that a man takes up so much of your mind. Having had your fair share of breakups, they never affected you how it does now. Before it was easy to shut out and focus on work, or hobbies, or even a horrible show. But now you dread missing its playtime, just for the background noise it offers.

You begin to wonder what about this guy is so special. He wasn’t loved more or less than the others that came before, but yet he remains that chokehold. Come to think of it, you were always able to tell Toji about other worries, even romantic in nature. Except for this. It creates a common difference, and the reason you aren’t able to face him this time is… his absurd and unbeknownst involvement.

We break up, or you stop seeing that criminal. The one with the black hair, I don’t want you seeing him.

But you’re friends. He can’t just say that about someone you care to call a friend.

It doesn’t matter what you call him. What does matter is what he is. And that… guy, I’ve met types like him, and they’re never good news. I see the way he looks.

Was that not quite superficial of him? Not nice, at the very least, to talk about Toji that way. You fumed, and he didn’t understand.

What are you defending him for? You like him that much, huh?

“Excuse me, there’s a line for the stall,” a woman knocks, pulling your head back out of your thoughts. Panicked, you get up quickly, flushing the unused toilet.

“Y-yes, I’m sorry, I’ll be right out.” With mere seconds to compose yourself, you sigh and close your eyes before stepping out of the stall. The music is dull in here, though it continues to bump in your ears. Now, however, it is somewhat more gloomy.

You keep your head down to avoid any eye contact with the waiting women, instead heading directly to wash your hands at the sink. The cold water feels refreshing on your skin, and it helps loosen a knot in your shoulders. Maybe it was time to tell him the truth. You’re not one to keep dwelling over these things - for it all to end would be pure bliss. He’d ridicule it a little, and life would go on as if nothing ever happened.

The music makes itself known again once you step out of the restroom. At this time, your sight has become increasingly unclear, but it’s easy to spot him in any crowd by his broad and tall frame that looms dangerously over any ordinary person, accompanied by his dark hair and attire. You can kind of see it. Why your ex would be so cautious of this hunk of a man. Even the scar on his lips spoke for his attractiveness. Usually it’s easy to slap yourself awake when you have such thoughts about him. But today is not a day you can shake them off, which works contrary to having to watch him hit it off with some random woman now.

He has her trapped against the pool table, enjoying the curves of her waist. Your eyes watch his hands explore. They look so big against her body, and move in a weird, hypnotizing way. You wonder what they feel like, what it feels like to be his subject. If they are rough, or gentle. But as of now, you’re forced upon the sight of someone else finding out, allowed to see if his lips even fit with hers or if something else might spark. Torture, so to speak.

Going against any inch of growth you had in the bathroom, you turn around and hurry out the door. It doesn’t even register fully when you bump into a shoulder, your steps keep their pace steady until the music begins to die down and the lights begin to spread few. You are both adults, and able to do whatever you want, but you can’t stand bearing witness to his free will. Not now, when things are so confusing. However, the tears form in your eyes. As confusing as stuff may be, they are, above all, too much to handle and too big of concepts to grasp on such a random night.

Your steps echo in your ears, interrupted by the occasional sniff and sob. Luckily, one of the strict conditions for going out today was finding a bar close to your apartment, so it wouldn’t prove to be a hassle to get back when you’re either drunk or tired, or both. Toji accommodated it well. In just a couple blocks you’ll be able to throw yourself onto the bed and continue staring at the ceiling until sleep finally takes over. With just a little luck, maybe your dreams could behave as well.

Lost in your thoughts and wiping away the tears from your cheek, the sight of your building surges another whirlwind of emotions. If none of this had happened, seeing the lights of the familiar building wouldn’t cause such a response. Indeed, you wouldn’t even bat an eye. But the bittersweet feelings from earlier return, and your steps accelerate towards sanctuary.

“Who said it’s alright to leave on your own?” A firm grip on your shoulder stops you mid step, making you jump slightly. The faster your heart beats, the longer it takes to realize how the voice is detrimentally unfamiliar, and how the assertive hold is not one of real concern. Taking quite a while, the shock factor is minimized to only an excruciating acceptance.

As you turn around slowly, your fingers fidget by your side. Once teary eyes are fixed on the stranger, you part your lips in vain for words. A sob, a small gasp, maybe. But certainly no words before that smile spread on his lips. It feels like a cold shower when directed right at you, yet oh so different in nature than Toji’s smug smirk.

“Crying, oh? What has you all worked up?”, the man says in pity, but the fake pout returns to an empty smile almost immediately. Like an answer to your silent prayer, his grip on your shoulder loosens, and you instantly turn to get away. Maybe some inborn survival instinct was due when he released you just like that, though even you can’t blame yourself when he shifts his foot in front of your legs, tripping and letting you fall onto the ground. A dry chuckle leaves his throat as he watches you groan and sniff beneath him. “Looks like you’ve had too much to drink, sweetest. Can’t even walk by yourself.” His voice is a bit louder than before, assuring his defense in case of anyone around. It turns low again, however, when he next speaks. “Who could judge you for that? I saw you caught your man with anoth-“

A punch to his cheekbone shuts him up and makes him tumble to the ground. You only heard the sound, but your muscles tighten nonetheless. When you eventually turn around and see him clench at his cheek, groaning in more pain than you ever have, Toji looks back as he rolls his shoulder without a single hint of expression. His upper lip twitches, obscuring the scar.

In shock and confusion, you rub the tears from your chin as your eyes wander between Toji and the man. Although Toji, as fed up as he is, gets into action and grabs you from the ground. He throws you over his shoulder effortlessly, and you hang limp without saying another word while he carries you the rest of the way to the building.

In front of the entrance, his hand digs into your back pocket, now by his face, to grab the keys he found the imprint of. You would have blushed, flustered and all, hadn’t you been so drained and out of words. He opens the door, and the elevator ride right after continues in silence.

Between getting into the elevator and being carried into your apartment, you kept your eyes closed. Out of embarrassment, maybe worry, or just fatigue. You hear the door close before he walks into the kitchen and pulls out a chair. Instead of setting you down, however, he gives two, short and quick spanks against your butt. “Don’t sleep yet, you’re not done,” he mumbles, and your eyes flutter open as he sits you down. The kitchen light is warm, reflecting off the dark window, but for some reason endlessly more depressing than the bedroom ceiling. Toji helps himself to a beer from your buzzing fridge and opens it with your key still in his hand. It clinks onto the cluttered counter moments later, and he walks back slowly while taking a long sip.

“So you’re gonna tell me what’s up or you gonna be a pussy about it?” His now amused tone is accompanied by a smile that you know, that you understand. Sly, with those narrow eyes. You look away, and your reflection in the window stares back at you.

“About what? I was tired, wanted to go home. Sorry I didn’t tell you.” He gives a dissatisfied hum and crosses his arms - an already anticipated reaction. You knew it wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it’s the one you were comfortable giving. Sadly, you also know that he’s not going to drop it.

“Don’t give me that, my dear. I won’t play into it,” he says roughly. It was merely to buy time, you realized, before actually having to confront the problem. The answer he wants has to be given, and there’s no way around it. You peel your gaze from the window to face him again, the bottle in his hand being swirled around rhythmically. A sigh builds up in your chest. The consequences of your hesitance and tendency to become a hermit may very well lead to a bigger drift in everything, professionally as well as socially, and the burning of a bridge is nowhere to be justified by a selfish need to run away and keep things bottled up. You fail to see the man before you let such a thing bother him, and maybe there’s credit to be given for the consistency of his indifference. So, you part your lips after finding your words.

“We broke up. It wasn’t just a fight, we… ended things.” Your hoarse voice leads your hand to grab the bottle from him, taking a sip to lubricate your throat. He looks at you and raises an eyebrow. The smile has left his lips, and you see his scar twitch up combined with an indecipherable expression.

“You broke up with that noodle? Not a good reason to cry.” Keeping his words few, he focuses on your movements and whatever he is able to discern from your eyes. Your sadness doesn’t sit right with him. The reason for that could be as simple as a lack of understanding toward this sort of issue, worlds apart from his own worries, or as complex as to say he were jealous of those tears you shed for someone so lowly like that stick bug of a man you chose to call a lover for these past months, yet the result of such a label are indistinguishable. He’s annoyed either way.

“I didn’t break up with him. He broke up with me, Toji.” Wrong. Another wrong answer that causes his muscles to twitch and flex. Dismissing you entirely would be wrong - or hurtful, as he newly picked up - but continuing the conversation knowing you feel so down from this insect leaving you, it for sure is the easier thing to do.

“Still, don’t be childish. You were gonna get God knows what done to on the way here because some guy broke up with you? If so, you’re a stupid girl.” He watches as you set the bottle down, some color returning to your face. Funnily enough, he, too, is no big fan of watching you partake in your free will.

“It’s not that. Not anymore,” you say, increasingly stern. He makes no effort to move away when you get up and step closer, but his eyebrow raises once again to match your sardonic gaze. “Want to know the reason he broke up with me? It’s you, Toji. And you’re just so… so… you. I know this doesn’t concern you, and I’m sorry I made you worry. Go on, laugh about it and don’t give it another thought, like you do so well.”

He blinks. Taking a few seconds, then a few more, to look down at you in silence. With your fists by your side and fuming, you want to see his lip twitch, his veins protrude and his shoulders tense like he did with anger. But he doesn’t. He’s no longer angry. Instead, he chuckles.

“He thought I was fucking you?” The amusement is clearly written in his eyes, and you realize how insignificant he must think this to be. A domestic issue isn’t exactly part of his paycheck. Though he barely ever brings up the topic of his sex life - not love life -, you’ve on multiple occasions been made aware of how he has one to begin with. Women flock to him like mosquitoes or, in his case, blades, and he sure knew to treasure such an honor by taking his sweetest pick. It doesn’t concern you, however, as much as this doesn’t concern him.

You watch as he laughs. It breaks your heart, just a little. The small ache in your chest begs the question of how true those words actually were, ringing in the back of your mind. But what if you do like him that much? What about it? It all doesn’t matter at the end of the day, when you’re standing in the kitchen, in that deceivingly warm light, and he’s laughing about it like you had hoped.

“Ah, fuck this.” Out of the blue, his smile drops, and he very quickly resumes a blank expression. You freeze at the sudden change, uncertain of how to react. “I’m not playing into this either, dear, whatever man you think I am,” he says without waiting for your move. When he steps closer, your heart flutters for just how claustrophobic his big frame leaves you and furthermore, making you falter up against the table. Toji can be a scary man if he wanted, even scarier if he’s not meaning to, which has even you, no matter how convinced you are of his own boundaries, inching away.

“Playing into what, Toji?”, you ask, still holding your ground in the eye contact front. His hand reaches out and grabs your chin, pulling you up and closer.

“Want me to laugh about this, eh? That’s ridiculous, my dear, I don’t find it funny. Don’t annoy me with that shit.” He chuckles, this time at your nonsense and aptitude for complicating things. He fails to grasp, however, how hard it is to confront such a situation. “Keep it simple, keep it plain. You left your boyfriend for me, right?”

Full version on AO3 (linked). Please enjoy, have a good day and stay safe!

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