This is everything I have so far so be patient with me for more updates lol
The dim garage felt too small with Toji in it. The tension from our argument only moments ago loomed over us like a dark cloud—heavy, suffocating, and charged. I imagined this was what it felt like to be trapped in a zoo enclosure with a panther: a predator that wasn’t necessarily hungry, but was definitely bored and dangerous. With my head still in my hands, I peeked through the gaps in my fingers, my breath heavy in the stagnant air.
My attempt at subtlety was useless. Those dark, oceanic eyes were already pinned on me with a weight that made my skin crawl. He was eerily calm, standing in the crimson wash of the emergency lights like a statue carved from muscle and scars.
”Look, I don’t care why or how you got your hands on my things,” I began, my voice cracking before I forced it to steady. I dropped my hands, letting them fall limp at my sides. “I just want them back… please.” The words were clipped, laced with a bone-deep exhaustion I couldn’t hide anymore. I was tired of the silence, the haunting, and the preconceived notions he seemed to have about me.
That was it. A single syllable that made me empathize with Marie Antoinette on her way to the guillotine. There was no flash of empathy, not even a second of consideration. The evil glint in his eye made the refusal feel like a taunt. He pushed off the wall and started stalking toward me, his movements languid and predatory as he closed the distance.
“Why?” I asked, my voice rising as I craned my neck to keep his face in view. He towered over me now, his massive form swallowing the little light left in the room. “Why do you have to be such an ass? Why won’t you just give me my shit back? You make zero fucking sense, Toji. You’re a grown man. What could you possibly want with a girl’s jewelry and a half-empty bag of snacks?”
”Because nothing in this world comes for free. That’s a lesson you never learned in your spoon-fed life,” his voice was as cool and stoic as the concrete floor. He leaned down slightly, his shadow stretching over me until I was utterly eclipsed. “Don’t start expecting handouts now. Especially not from me. If you want something, you earn it or you pay the price. That’s how the real world works, Princess.”
I physically recoiled, my back hitting the cold metal of the weight rack. My mind raced, drawing dark, twisted conclusions about what a man like him might want in exchange for a crumb of kindness. The suggestion made my skin feel smothered in a layer of filth. I had experienced this before—men who saw me as an object to be used and discarded once their "many needs" were fulfilled. Yet, for some reason, I hadn’t expected it from him. It was a strange realization, given that none of our interactions had been cordial, but I refused to unpack that thought while he was looking at me like that.
“You’re disgusting,” I whispered, the words trembling with a mix of revulsion and fear. “Is that what this is? All this effort to piss me off just so you can get your dick wet?”
He didn’t blink. He didn't even bother to deny it. He simply watched the way my hackles rose, his expression expectant and mocking.
There was no thought left in my head—only blinding rage. My hand shot out of its own volition. It was a reflex, a desperate attempt to strike back at the reality he was painting for me.
The sound of my palm hitting his face echoed off the garage walls like a gunshot. His head snapped to the side, following the path of the blow.
My hand hung in the air, tingling and hot, my breath caught in my lungs as my brain finally caught up to my body. I stared at the side of his head, noticing the intense clench of his jaw. My heart drummed a frantic, terrified rhythm against my ribs. I couldn't believe I’d actually hit him—but more than that, I couldn’t believe he’d let me. A man with his reflexes could have caught my wrist before I’d even thought of swinging. He’d let me do it. Whether it was out of indifference or the knowledge that I couldn’t truly hurt him, it only fueled my fury.
“Feel better now?” His voice was like gravel, a low whisper that made my spine go rigid. He didn't turn to strike back; he didn't even turn his face toward me. He just stayed crouched there, taking the sting as if it were nothing but a light breeze.
“No,” I whispered back, breathless.
Toji slowly turned his head. The red lighting caught the right side of his face, exaggerating the faint outline of my palm like a fresh burn. He didn’t look angry; he looked like a panther ready to show its claws.
“Good,” he said. “Anger is better than silence, Kaya. It’s harder to kill something that’s screaming.”
“I was not screaming,” I hissed. “I was setting a boundary. I don’t owe you a single thing, Toji. Not for your ‘protection,’ not for my life, and not for my mother’s hairpin. If my father wants to pay you to be a bodyguard, that’s on him. But don't you dare suggest I need to earn back what was mine—especially not with the payment you’re proposing.”
The hard lines of his face drew together, a puzzled tilt to his head.
“Oh, please. We both know what kind of payment you're implying,” I scoffed.
He merely stared at me, his stoic mask slipping into the smallest smirk I’d ever seen. He dropped his head, letting out a small, dry scoff to hide his newfound amusement. The asshole thought this was funny.
“Oh, believe me, Little Lark,” he said, looking up at me through his lashes, the smirk fully taking over. “I wouldn’t need to blackmail you into opening those pretty legs if that’s what I truly wanted.” His voice was silk on bare skin, his breath whispering across my ear. I couldn't control the hitch in my chest; my body reacted to him before my mind could intervene.
“In your dreams,” I snapped, my brain finally catching up. My heart was racing for an entirely different reason now as I looked at the man crouched before me with that devilish grin. He wasn't beautiful—he was just... distracting.
“That, too,” he replied, pushing up off his knees to stand. My mind swam with the whiplash of the last ten minutes. He turned his back to me and strolled across the garage, his gait annoyingly cocky, as if he knew exactly how my thighs had instinctively clenched at his words.
“Fine. What the hell do you want, then?” I stood up from the weight bench, exasperated. “If not my body, how do I ‘prove myself’? I think I handled you just fine a second ago.” I couldn't help the small hint of pride in my tone.
Toji let out a short, dry huff. “You landed a slap on a man who let you hit him. That’s not handling anything.”
“God, I really hate you,” I spat. “I hate you, I hate this house, I hate my father, I hate this cursed energy—and I hate how you think you can play with my life like it’s a deck of cards.”
“That’s what you need to understand. Life is a game of cards. And right now, you’re playing with a full house and no clue how to use it. You want to control your own life? You want your dignity? Earn it. Stop waiting for the world to be fair. It isn’t—not for people like us.”
“People like us?” I asked, incredulous. “There is no ‘us.’ You’re a brute who kills for money, and I’m a—”
“Victim?” he interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “A display piece? A prize? A battery? That’s what they want you to be. That’s what the gala is for, after all—an opportunity to show off that you’ve been tamed.”
He reached into his pocket. For a split second, I thought he was reaching for a weapon, but he pulled out the hairpin. He held it up, the gold glinting like a drop of blood under the emergency lights.
“You want it?” He taunted, waving the gold above his head. “Come and get it, Little Lark.”
I didn't think. I just lunged.
My fingers clawed at the air where the gold had been a second before, but the space was suddenly empty. No sound of a footstep, no rustle of fabric—just a displacement of air, like a vacuum opening up behind me.
"Too slow," his voice drifted from the shadow of a heavy tool chest.
I spun around, my heart hammering against my ribs. He was leaning against the chest, the hairpin balanced precariously on the tip of his finger. He wasn't even breathing hard. In the red light, he looked like a glitch in reality—a silhouette that didn't belong to the laws of physics.
"Give. It. Back." My voice was a low growl. For the first time, I felt the static in my veins flare. It wasn't the suffocating "fullness" of the kitchen; it was sharper. A needle-prick of heat under my skin. I knew unleashing the storm would be useless here. I needed to be smart. I needed to be faster than him.
I didn't lunge like a frantic animal this time. I watched him.
Toji was a mountain of muscle, but he moved like smoke. I took a slow breath, forcing the white-hot pressure in my chest to sit still—banking the coals instead of letting them catch.
"Still just chirping, Lark?" he provoked, tossing the pin up and catching it between his teeth with a metallic clink. The nickname rolled off his tongue again, snagging my attention for a confused second, but I pushed the thought down and focused.
I didn't answer. I bolted to the left, toward the weight rack. He shifted instantly to cut me off, his movement so casual it was insulting. But I didn't reach for him. As I got close, I dropped low, my sneakers screeching against the concrete. I grabbed a fifteen-pound dumbbell from the bottom tier and swung it—not at him, but at the rolling stool behind his heels.
It was a cheap shot. It worked.
The stool skidded into his path. For a fraction of a second, his perfect balance wavered as he sidestepped the obstacle. It was the only opening I needed. I didn't go for his hand; I went for his center of gravity. I dove forward, sliding across the slick floor, and wrapped my arms around his waist.
I hit him like a freight train—or that's what it felt like to me. To him, I was likely a minor inconvenience, but the momentum forced him back a step.
"Persistent," he grunted. I felt the heat of his skin through his shirt—the terrifying density of him. In any other situation, the feel of him—hot, steady, and solid—would have set my knees wobbling in a way I preferred not to ponder.
I scrambled up his frame, using his cargo pockets and belt as handholds. I wasn't fighting like a sorcerer; I was fighting like a girl who grew up with nothing, clawing for the only thing that mattered. My hand snapped toward his face, aiming for the gold glinting in his teeth.
Toji’s hand came up, lightning-fast, catching my wrist in a grip like a steel vise. He held me there, dangling inches from his face. His dark eyes were narrowed in something that wasn't quite anger—it was curiosity.
"You're out of your league, Princess," he murmured, his breath hot against my forehead.
"Maybe," I hissed through gritted teeth. "But I'm not a display piece."
I didn't release the Reservoir. I just let a tiny, needle-thin spark—hardly more than a static shock—travel down my arm to the exact spot where his skin met mine. It wasn't enough to hurt him. It was just hot. The focused sting of a wasp.
Toji’s fingers twitched. It was a reflexive flinch, so small anyone else would have missed it. But in that split second of loosened grip, I ripped my hand free, snatched the hairpin from his mouth, and tumbled backward onto the concrete.
I scrambled away, putting the weight rack between us, clutching the gold to my heart. My hand was shaking, but the pin was cold and solid in my palm. Toji stayed where he was, slowly rubbing the spot on his wrist where I’d stung him. The smirk was gone, replaced by a deep, unsettling stillness.
"You used it," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Not because you were scared or lost control. Because you wanted something."
"I told you," I panted, standing my ground even as my knees threatened to buckle. "I don't owe you anything. I earn my own way."
Toji let out a short, dry sound—not a laugh, but a recognition. "Lark, indeed," he muttered. He turned toward the electrical panel, hitting a sequence of buttons that brought the garage lights humming back to life. My jaw remained on the floor as he strode toward the now-unlocked kitchen doors.
"Don't let the spark go out, Kaya. It’s the only interesting thing about you."
