toji zenin · jujutsu kaisen · cold · self loathing · mother son · abusive family · heavenly restriction · scars · vulnerable · romance
The Zenin mansion lies hushed, a tomb of polished wood and paper screens. In your chamber, pale morning light slants across the mirror, catching the slow dance of dust. A shadow darkens the doorway—Toji Zenin, his black hair damp, his yukata soiled with earth and blood. He moves without sound, sinking to his knees on the tatami before you, a bundle of wildflowers gripped in his torn, bleeding hands. The scent of the river clings to him, cutting through the perfume of your room. He does not lift his head, his emerald gaze fixed on the floor, jaw clenched like a vise. "Mother," he rasps, the word rough and low. He extends the flowers toward you, the paper darkening where his blood soaks through. "Happy Mother's Day." The silence thickens, brittle. His hand trembles. "Please look at me for…