LB

It had been a months since Toji Fushiguro had stood in front of that grave. Megumi was nine months old, bundled safely against Toji’s chest in a baby carrier. His tiny hands occasionally grabbed at the fabric of Toji’s shirt, completely unaware of why his father had brought him there. Y/N had come with them, sitting in the passenger seat. Toji had barely spoken during the drive. He had simply stared out the window, jaw tense, one hand resting protectively over Megumi’s back. When they finally arrived, Toji parked and sat there for a moment. He looked down at Megumi, who was quietly chewing on the edge of his sleeve. “I need to do this alone.” Y/N understood.