Toji Fushiguro

The air was cold, the sky over Tokyo blanketed with heavy, dark clouds, as if it knew something was about to happen tonight.

The bustling streets of Shibuya glowed with neon lights, pulsing with the loud music spilling from the clubs.

Toji Fushiguro, once one of the most dangerous sorcerers, had become a shadow of his former self.

His disheveled black hair, tired eyes hiding a smoldering rage, and a body reeking of cheap whiskey and the faint perfume of club girls told the story of a man who no longer had any boundaries.

Tonight, Toji stumbled back from the club, as he always did. His leather jacket was wrinkled and stained, a few buttons of his shirt undone, a smear of red lipstick glaring on his collar.

---

The stench of cigarettes and liquor clung to his breath, forming faint clouds in the cold air. He fumbled with the key in the lock of the small, grimy apartment, shoving the door open with his shoulder.

His boots were carelessly tossed off, one hitting the wall with a loud thud. The apartment was dark, save for the dim glow of a lamp left on in the bedroom corner.

You, the one who months ago had been ensnared by Toji’s crooked smile and piercing gaze, sat on the bed, knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the wall.

Your hair was a mess, your eyes sunken with dark circles screaming of grief and exhaustion. The oversized t-shirt you wore—Toji’s—now carried your scent, not his.

Once, you thought this shirt, this room, this life smelled of love. Now, it reeked only of despair and alcohol.

Toji didn’t even glance at you as he flung his jacket onto the worn-out couch in the corner. The clink of a whiskey bottle he pulled from his pocket and set on the table shattered the heavy silence.

He let out a deep sigh and headed to the fridge, grabbing a beer and kicking the door shut with his foot.

"What’s with that pathetic face again?" he muttered, voice dripping with mockery, not bothering to look your way.

You didn’t respond. You’d grown used to it. There was a time when every word from him, every glance, made your heart race. Now, there was only silence and pain.

The first time you saw Toji, in that damned club, with his strong build and eyes that seemed to see right through you, you thought he was your savior.

Someone who’d change your life. That night, after a few drinks and sweet words, when he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close, you thought it was love.

That same night, in this very apartment, on this very bed, when he tore your clothes off with frantic need and kissed you like the world was ending, you thought it meant you belonged. Now, you knew you’d been wrong.

Toji had dragged you into this suffocating, dark apartment, where the walls seemed to close in a little more each day. When he first suggested you move in, your eyes had sparkled with hope.

You thought it meant a future together. But everything changed quickly. Toji caged you. You weren’t allowed to go to university, talk to friends, or even open the window unless he was there.

Your life had been reduced to these four walls, this bed, and waiting for a man who came home every night smelling of another woman.

Tonight was no different. Toji chugged the beer and collapsed onto the couch. His hair stuck to his forehead, his breathing heavy.

His eyes stared at the ceiling, but it was as if he saw nothing—as if you didn’t exist. After a moment, he stood and staggered toward the bedroom.

Your heart pounded, not with love, but with fear. You knew what he wanted when he was drunk, when the scent of a stranger’s perfume clung to him. And you no longer had the strength to resist.

"Get up," he barked, his voice cold and emotionless. When you didn’t move, he grabbed your wrist with a quick, harsh tug, pulling you toward him.

The stench of alcohol on his breath hit your face.

"I said get up. You think you can pull that depressed act again?" You tried to pull your hand free, but his fingers tightened like a vise, pain shooting through your bones.

You didn’t even whimper—you were used to it by now. He shoved you toward the bed, and before you could say a word, his weight pressed down on you. His clothes still carried the cheap perfume of another woman.

His hands, rough and merciless, pushed the thin fabric of the t-shirt aside. You closed your eyes, not out of pleasure, but because you didn’t want to see this moment. You didn’t want to see him.

When he was done, he rolled off the bed without a word. He pulled up his pants, went to the table, and lit a cigarette. The smoke curled into the heavy air of the room.

You stayed on the bed, your body limp, your spirit broken. Silent tears slid down your cheeks, but you didn’t bother wiping them away.

Toji took a deep drag of his cigarette and stared out the window at the street below.

"Got a job tomorrow," he said flatly. "Gotta take out some damn sorcerer. Pays well." His voice was devoid of care, as if you weren’t still lying there, as if he hadn’t just torn your life apart piece by piece.

This was your life now: waiting for Toji to return, enduring his anger and his needs, and sinking deeper into a depression that swallowed you like a swamp. Once, you thought he was your savior.

Now, you knew he was the monster who had devoured you. And worst of all, you didn’t know how to escape، this hell.