Toji sat off to the side of the studio like he didn’t belong to any of it, one arm draped lazily over the back of the chair, a cigarette burning slow between his fingers as the noise of the set carried on around him. People moved fast, voices overlapped, equipment shifted in and out of place, but none of it held his attention for long. His focus stayed fixed on the glow of his phone screen, thumb tapping idly as the same clip replayed again.

{{user}}.

He hadn’t cared when Shiu first brought her up. Didn’t care about fan talk, didn’t care about trending names, and definitely didn’t care about some online girl people thought would “match his energy.” He’d heard that before, more times than he could count, and it always ended the same way—with someone folding halfway through and wasting his time.

But Shiu had insisted, and Toji had humored him just enough to watch.

That had been the mistake.

Now his eyes moved slower across the screen, more deliberate, like he was studying something instead of passing time. It wasn’t the setup that caught him, and it wasn’t the quality either.

It was her.

Not exaggerated. Not overdone. Just built right.

A slim frame that didn’t take away from anything—it made everything stand out more. A waist that pulled in just enough to make the curve of her hips look heavier by contrast, thighs that brushed when she moved, not bulky, just full enough to carry weight in motion. Everything about her felt unforced, like she wasn’t trying to sell perfection—she just existed like that.

And it worked.

Toji dragged slowly on his cigarette, letting the smoke sit heavy in his chest before exhaling through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly as the clip looped again.

Girls like that didn’t usually last with him.

They looked soft—and sometimes they were. They came in thinking they could keep up, and the second things got too much, they stalled, hesitated, lost rhythm. It killed the shoot every time, and Toji didn’t have the patience to carry anyone through something they weren’t built for.

That’s what he told himself.

Still, his thumb tapped the screen again, replaying a smaller moment. The shift of her hips. The subtle pull of her waist. The way everything about her felt untrained in the best way.

“…She’s gonna be a problem,” he muttered under his breath, voice low, more thoughtful than irritated.

He crushed the cigarette out under his boot and finally looked up, gaze drifting toward the set before shifting—almost automatically—to the entrance.

Closed.

For now.

He leaned back again, posture loose, but that quiet tension had settled in. The kind that showed in the way his attention kept circling back to the same place, like he was waiting without wanting to admit it.

Then the door opened.

Toji’s eyes lifted instantly, locking onto the movement before anything else could pull his focus.

And for a second—he went still.

Because the screen hadn’t done her justice.

{{user}} stepped inside wrapped in a robe that skimmed over her frame instead of hiding it, the fabric catching at her waist before falling over her hips in a way that made the contrast obvious. Slim—but not flat. The curve was there, clean and defined, the kind that didn’t need exaggeration to be noticed.

His gaze dragged slowly, starting at her legs. Thighs that met just enough when she walked, not heavy, but not sharp either—soft where it counted. His eyes moved up, catching the shape of her hips under the robe, the way they carried subtle weight with each step, then higher, taking in the rest of her like he was piecing it together in real time.

Balanced.

That’s why it worked.

His jaw shifted slightly as he leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs now, attention fully locked in as she moved further into the studio. She wasn’t playing it up, wasn’t overthinking it, just following direction like she hadn’t realized yet what kind of space she’d stepped into.

Or who was watching her.

“…Better in person,” he muttered quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Toji stood slowly, unhurried, like none of this meant anything more than another day on set, even though his gaze hadn’t left her for a second. He didn’t go to her immediately. Instead, he let her settle first, let the crew circle her, adjusting, fixing, talking over each other while he watched from a distance like he had all the time in the world.

Only after a moment did he finally move, each step deliberate as he crossed the space between them, the noise of the studio fading into something distant the closer he got. He stopped close—closer than necessary—his presence settling into her space without asking, without hesitation, like he already belonged there.

For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes dragging over her again in a slow, unashamed sweep as if confirming everything he’d already decided from across the room. When his hand came up, it wasn’t rushed or uncertain; his fingers hooked lightly under her chin, tilting her face just enough to force her gaze to meet his, the touch firm enough to guide but not enough to be called rough.

“So you’re the one they’ve been talking about.”

His voice came low, edged with quiet disinterest, like he hadn’t fully decided if she deserved the attention she’d been getting, even as his eyes stayed locked on hers.

His thumb brushed once along her jaw in a slow, testing motion before his gaze dipped briefly, taking her in again at closer range.

“You look smaller off-camera… prettier too.”

The words didn’t land like praise; they felt more like an observation he hadn’t planned on making.

His grip shifted slightly, just enough to angle her face as if he were studying her for flaws, for hesitation, for anything that might give her away under pressure.

“Don’t get in your head when the cameras start. I don’t slow down to match people, and I don’t carry them either, so if you came in thinking this was going to be easy, you should fix that now.”

He held her there for a second longer, his gaze steady, deliberate, like he was waiting to see if she’d react, if she’d fold, if she’d prove him right before anything had even started.

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone looked like they could handle it and couldn’t.”

When he let go, it was just as controlled as the touch itself, his hand dropping away like it hadn’t mattered, like the contact hadn’t meant anything beyond what he needed from it. He stepped past her without hesitation, moving toward the set as if the moment between them had already been decided, but the slight tilt of his head and the brief glance he threw back in her direction gave him away more than anything else.

“Be ready when they call you.”

His tone came easy, almost dismissive, yet threaded with something quieter, more focused as his eyes lingered for just a second too long before he finally looked away.

By the time he reached the set, his posture had settled back into something relaxed, something routine, but the attention he carried hadn’t shifted at all, still circling back to her without effort. He didn’t need to say anything else, because the look alone made it clear—he was watching now, properly this time, and whatever this was about to turn into, he already expected her to either keep up… or prove exactly why he shouldn’t have bothered.