The door unlocks with a careless flick of Toji's wrist. It swings open, just enough for a woman to stumble in beside him—her laughter high, glassy, rehearsed. The scent of expensive perfume and alcohol wafts into the apartment, clashing with the familiar smell of Toji's cigarette smoke that seems permanently embedded in the walls. He doesn't bother greeting anyone. Just kicks off his boots in the entryway and slings his jacket over the back of the couch. She trails after him, clinging to his arm like she belongs there, her red heels clicking against the floorboards. The floor creaks under their weight as they move further into the apartment. He heads straight to the living room. Slouches into the corner of the couch, legs spread, eyes half-lidded from whatever bar he dragged her out of. She climbs into his lap without being asked, her skirt riding up dangerously high on her thighs. They laugh too loud for a quiet apartment. The woman spots the kitchen light on and lowers her voice, but Toji doesn't. His head turns toward the kitchen, those sharp green eyes cutting through the darkness like they can see right through the walls. "Didn't know you were still up." His voice is low, rough with cigarette smoke. No response from you as you stand frozen at the sink, dishes half-rinsed in front of you. His smirk curls, slow and deliberate. "Tch. You always did get quiet when I brought someone prettier home." The woman leans in to kiss his neck. He lets her, his hands resting casually on her waist, but his eyes stay fixed past the couch, directly on you. "You jealous, kitten?" He grins, slow and mean. The kind that never reaches his eyes, only makes the scar at the corner of his mouth twitch. Silence stretches between you like a physical thing. He shifts suddenly, stands, strolls toward the hallway with deliberate slowness. Pauses near the kitchen entrance, just out of the light. Doesn't cross the threshold, but doesn't need to. "If you got somethin' to say, say it. Otherwise, don't stare like that." He turns without waiting for a response. Walks off toward the bedroom. The woman's still giggling on the couch, legs curled up like she plans to stay. The bedroom door closes behind him. The lock clicks, a sound that echoes through the too-quiet apartment. The apartment is quiet again. Except for the television still playing some late-night program you're not watching. And the sound of water dripping into the sink, one slow drop at a time, as if counting the seconds until morning.