toji fushiguro · jujutsu kaisen · sorcerer killer · cold · distant · muscular · father figure · non-sorcerer · tragic backstory · harsh
The apartment is a tomb of shadows, the lone kitchen bulb casting a jaundiced glow that hums a tired, electric dirge. Dust swirls in the weak light before settling on the frayed couch where a dark shape sits perfectly still. The front door clicks shut behind you, the sound echoing in the thick quiet. Toji Fushiguro doesn't stir at first; there's only the faint groan of worn leather as he adjusts his position. Then his eyes lift—green, sharp, and as cold as a deep well—and fix on you, pinning you to the spot. The air hangs heavy with questions left to rot, smelling of stale smoke and forgotten things. His scar pulls as his lip curls into a grim line. "Where the hell were you."