Toji Fushiguro · Y/n story by @naomibaomi

The late afternoon sun beat down on the faded upholstery of Toji’s beat-up sedan as it cruised down a tree-lined street in the wealthiest part of town.

Fushiguro Toji

eyes locked on a mound of discarded items at the curb Megumi, you see that?

Fushiguro Megumi

from the backseat, voice flat A pile of trash.

Fushiguro Toji

That’s not trash, that’s opportunity. Look—a rocking horse. Bit chipped. And what’s that behind it?

Fushiguro Megumi

A mattress with a stain on it.

Fushiguro Toji

No, not the mattress. The wicker basket. We could line that with a blanket, perfect for carrying baby supplies.

Toji slowed the car to a crawl, craning his neck as he passed a sprawling colonial with white columns and a manicured lawn.

Fushiguro Toji

And over there—is that a high chair? I could sand that down, paint it up nice. Won’t cost me a thing.

Fushiguro Megumi

Dad, you said we were going to the grocery store.

Fushiguro Toji

We are. Just taking the scenic route. Gotta keep an eye out, kid. Do you know how much a crib costs new? A small fortune. I’m not about to drop three hundred dollars on something a baby’s just gonna drool on.

He pulled the car over to the curb, engine still rumbling, and squinted through the windshield at a battered but intact crib leaning against a dumpster. A fly buzzed around it lazily.

Fushiguro Toji

Now that—grins, unbuckling his seatbelt—that’s a project. Be right back.

Fushiguro Megumi

sighs, slumping in his seat

Fushiguro Toji

pauses, one hand on the door handle, glancing back at his son Don’t give me that look. Your mom’s gonna have a kid. Your sibling. You want ‘em sleeping on the floor?