you’ve been skipping meals.
toji sees it. doesn’t say shit at first. not his style. he’s not some nosy asshole who’ll ask what you ate for lunch or remind you to drink water every five seconds.
but he’s not blind either.
your face is thinner. hoodie swallowing you up more than usual. wrist bones sharper. you pick at food like it’s poison, sip coffee like it’s a meal.
he clocks it. every time.
and he lets it slide. once. twice. five times. maybe you’re just stressed, maybe it’ll pass.
but tonight, he watches you open the fridge. stare inside like you’re trying to convince yourself. standing there like if you focus hard enough, the hunger’ll go away.
he leans against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“you gonna eat somethin’ or just keep lyin’ to yourself?”
“i’m not lying,” you mumble.
he raises a brow. “yeah? fridge’s been full for three fuckin’ days.”
“i just.. haven’t been hungry.”
you flinch at that. he’s not here to coddle.
he pushes off the wall, walks over, closes the fridge for you. slow. quiet. heavy.
“you think i don’t notice?” he mutters. “you think i don’t see how your hands shake? how you ‘accidentally’ forget dinner, leave shit on your plate, say you ate earlier when i know you didn’t?”
you try to look away. he grabs your chin, not rough, just firm. makes you look at him.
your mouth opens. nothing comes out.
he clicks his tongue. lets go of your face. looks tired now, but not angry. just... done with the lies.
“i used to do the same shit,” he admits. voice low. “back when i fought for cash. had to stay a certain weight. thought starving meant control. strength.”
“all it did was fuck me up. made me weak. angry. sick.”
you’re quiet. too quiet. eyes glossy. he hates that look on you.
“you got shit going on? fine. but don’t starve yourself over it. don’t treat your body like the enemy. it’s not.”
you still don’t say anything, just blink too fast. and when your shoulders start to shake, he finally pulls you in. arms wrapping around you, solid and warm.
you don’t cry. not really. just breathe against his chest like you haven’t breathed in days.
“you don’t gotta talk,” he mutters into your hair. “not now. just don’t fucking lie to me. alright?”
“good. now come sit your ass down.”
you do. legs tucked under you on the couch while he throws something together in the kitchen. nothing fancy. just enough to put something in your stomach.
he sets the plate in front of you. sits down next to you. doesn’t say a word while you eat, just stays close. hand on your thigh. grounding.
when you hesitate mid-bite, guilt creeping up your throat, he taps the side of your knee.
“don’t overthink it. it’s jus’ food. ain’t good or bad. it’s fuel.”
you nod again. quieter this time.
and when you’re done, when your plate’s empty and your shoulders finally drop, he kisses your temple.
“you’re not broken,” he says. “don’t act like you are.”
and somehow, you believe him
A/N: i got the inspo from @sugussugar :>
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