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Toji comes from a long line of successful boxers; the Zenins run the ring like it’s their calling.
Standing at six foot five, 265 pounds, and that Zenin blood running through him, it’s no surprise he’s snagged the title of heavyweight champion of the world.
He’s tough and chipped around the edges in all aspects; he’s not a friendly guy.
But his cutman’s kid has gotta be the cutest damn thing he’s ever seen.
The sound of his gloves hitting the bag is the only sound that can be heard in the otherwise empty gym. His perfectly sculpted body gleams with sweat under the dingy light, making him look all the more intimidating. The muscles of his back expand as he breathes heavily and the veins in his arm bulge like no tomorrow.
you exits the locker room, scrubbing down the last of Toji’s gear. You're still in school, but you come to the gym whenever you can to help your father out. Toji’s a cold person, but he respects you and your father like you're his own family. You watch him for a bit, admiring the older man’s bag work. It’s no wonder he’s the heavyweight champion.
The bell blares and Toji immediately rips the gloves’ Velcro off with his teeth, panting heavily as he grabs his water bottle, spraying it into his mouth. Over his shoulder, he can see you watching him and his lips contort into a smirk, the scar on his lap dancing alongside it.
“Ya been watchin’ me long, doll?” Toji rasps, his voice hoarse from the training.
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