Your Pace: Toji x Shy Female - Part 4
✩˚｡ Summary ｡˚✩ The diner was supposed to be just another quiet stop—a place for warm food and soft conversation, where the world could stay small for a little longer. But when a sharp moment cuts through the calm, Toji’s steady presence becomes something fiercer, something protective. And somehow, in the glow of neon lights and the clink of coffee mugs, you find yourself sharing more than just a meal.
♡ Warnings / Info ♡ 🌸 Soft fluff, budding romance 🍥 Shy, autistic reader (fidgets, stutters, sensory sensitivities) 🐰 Gentle/protective Toji, with a glimpse of his fiercer side 🫖 Cozy diner setting, grocery shopping follow-up, mentions of reader’s routines 🚫 Mild tension (no heavy angst), no spicy content—just cozy vibes with a touch of drama
- Your Pace -
The evening air was cool, carrying the faint bite of damp pavement and car exhaust. Your grocery bags pulled at your arms, the plastic handles pressing into your palms, peanut butter, jam, cranberry-grape juice, Japanese pears, and a few potatoes tucked inside. The city’s hum was softer now, a low murmur of neon buzz and distant laughter, but it still prickled at the edges of your awareness. Toji walked beside you, his single grocery bag slung over his shoulder, his broad frame moving with an ease that made the weight seem like nothing. His sweater shifted faintly against his jeans, and you caught a trace of his cologne, cedar, maybe, with a hint of something clean, like rain.
He’d mentioned a diner down the street. “Nothing fancy. Just food,” he’d said, his voice low and unhurried. Your heart had flickered, nerves twisting, but you’d managed a quiet, “Okay,” surprised by your own certainty. Now, your steps matched his, slow, deliberate, like he was measuring his pace to yours. The city’s noise felt less sharp with him there, his presence a buffer that dulled the edges. The bags crinkled with each step, a steady rhythm that kept you grounded.
The diner appeared around the corner, its neon sign glowing red and blue, the word Diner humming faintly in the dark. Fogged windows let warm light spill onto the sidewalk, casting gold streaks across the pavement. A bell jingled as Toji held the door open, just long enough for you to slip inside. The air was warm, thick with coffee, grilled bread, and a faint sweetness, pancakes, maybe, or pie. It settled into your bones, loosening the tension in your shoulders.
The place wasn’t packed but not empty either. An older man sat at the counter, flipping through a newspaper. A couple murmured over coffee in a booth. A woman scrolled her phone, earbuds in. Chrome-edged stools lined the counter, glinting under fluorescent lights, and a jukebox in the corner played a soft, old tune, some crooner’s voice weaving through the clink of dishes and the hiss of a coffee machine.
Toji nodded toward a booth in the back, tucked against a window. “That work?” he asked, his voice cutting through the diner’s hum without overpowering it. You nodded, fingers tightening on your bags. He led the way, sliding into the booth with a casual ease, setting his bag on the floor. You hesitated, then settled opposite him, the vinyl creaking under you as you carefully placed your bags beside you.
The table was worn, smooth from years of use, with a faint stickiness under your fingertips. A laminated menu sat between you, edges curled, listing burgers, fries, and shakes in faded print. You traced the menu’s edge, the texture keeping your nerves in check. Toji leaned back, one arm along the booth’s edge, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert, watching you with a quiet focus that made your chest tighten.
“Know what you want?” he asked, nodding at the menu, his tone gentle, like he knew choosing could feel heavy. You scanned the options, words blurring slightly under the weight of too many choices. Your fingers twitched, itching to fidget with your sleeve, but you kept them on the menu. “Um, fries and chicken tenders, maybe? And, strawberry lemonade?” Your voice was soft, tentative, but it came easier with him there.
He gave a small nod, like it was a perfectly reasonable choice. “Fries, tenders, lemonade. Good call.” His lips twitched, a faint smile that felt personal, not performative. “I’ll get a burger. Coffee, black. You cool if I order for you?” Relief hit you like a warm wave. “Yes, please,” you said, a little too quickly. Talking to servers always felt like navigating a minefield, your words tripping over themselves under their impatient stares. Toji just hummed, flipping the menu closed like it was no big deal.
A server approached, young, tight ponytail, name tag reading Kayla Hing. Her face was pinched, like she was counting down the minutes to the end of her shift. She tapped her pen on her notepad, barely glancing at you. “What’s the order?” she asked, voice flat, eyes flicking to her watch. Toji leaned forward, his presence steady. “Fries, chicken tenders, strawberry lemonade for her,” he said, tone firm but even. “Burger for me, medium, no onions. Black coffee.” His eyes stayed on her, making sure she heard.
Kayla scribbled, her pen scratching loudly. “That it?” she muttered, already half-turning away. You realized you’d forgotten something, your throat tightening as you forced the words out. “Can, can the lemonade be, not too sweet? Please?”
She stopped, spinning back with a sharp exhale, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t say that before,” she snapped, her tone slicing through the diner’s hum. “I already wrote it down. You want me to change it now?” The words hit hard, like a door slamming shut. Your breath caught, fingers freezing on the menu. Your thoughts scrambled, words tangling before they could form. Heat pricked at your eyes, and you felt your chest tighten, the diner’s sounds, clinking plates, the jukebox, distant voices, suddenly too loud, too close.
“I’m sorry,” you stammered, voice barely audible. “I didn’t, I just,” Your hands twitched, reaching for your sleeve, twisting the fabric hard. A tear slipped down your cheek, hot and humiliating, and you swiped at it, trying to shrink into the booth. The noise pressed in, overwhelming, and you wanted to disappear. Toji’s posture changed. He’d been relaxed, almost slouched, but now he sat up, shoulders squared, his gaze locking onto Kayla with a cold intensity. His voice, when he spoke, was low, sharp, like a blade held steady. “Hey. She’s ordering. You don’t get to talk to her like that.” The words weren’t loud, but they carried a weight that made the air feel heavy. Kayla froze, her pen hovering, her face flushing.
“I didn’t mean,” she started, but Toji cut her off, his voice still low but edged with something hard, protective. “You did. She’s being polite. You’re being rude. Fix it.” His eyes didn’t waver, and you caught a glimpse of something new in him, not just the calm, steady Toji, but something fiercer, like he’d step in front of anything that tried to hurt you. Your breath hitched, hands still trembling as you wiped your cheek again. The diner felt too bright, too exposed, but Toji’s presence was an anchor, even if his anger made your heart race. Kayla muttered something, scribbling again. “Fine. Less sweet,” she said, clipped, before turning and stalking off.
You stared at the table, fingers still twisting your sleeve, the fabric soft but not enough to stop the spinning in your head, I messed up, I shouldn’t have spoken, he’s mad, she’s mad. But Toji’s voice cut through, softer now, the edge gone. “Hey,” he said, leaning forward just enough to catch your attention. “You good?” You nodded, too fast, eyes fixed on the table’s worn grain. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to, make her mad.”
Toji exhaled, not quite a sigh, and leaned back, his posture easing. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, his voice steady, like a hand pulling you back from a ledge. “She’s just got an attitude. Not on you.” He paused, then added, quieter, “You don’t gotta apologize for asking for what you want.” The words settled slowly, like leaves falling, and your shoulders loosened a fraction. You glanced at him, just for a second, his face calm again but with a new glint in his eyes, something protective, resolute. It made your chest feel warm, despite the lingering sting of the moment.
A man in a collared shirt approached, name tag reading Manager. His expression was all apology, hands clasped. “I’m so sorry about that,” he said, voice professional but genuine. “That’s not how we treat customers. Your server’s been let go, she’s had issues, and this was the last straw. Your meal’s on us, and I’ll make sure your order’s right.” He looked at you, then Toji, his tone softening. “I hope you’ll give us another chance.”
Toji gave a short nod. “Appreciate it,” he said, his jaw relaxing. The manager nodded, offered another apology, and left. The diner’s hum returned, soft music, clinking dishes, low voices, like nothing had happened. You fidgeted with your sleeve, the motion slower now. “You didn’t have to, do that,” you said, voice small but steadier. “But, thanks.” Toji’s lips twitched, a faint smile. “Don’t mention it,” he said, echoing his words from the park, but with a warmth that made your chest lighten. “Just how it should be.”
A new server brought your drinks, strawberry lemonade for you, pale pink and cool, and black coffee for Toji, steam curling from the mug. The server was quick, polite, gone before you could feel overwhelmed. You wrapped your hands around the glass, the chill soothing your palms, and took a sip. It was just right, tart, not too sweet, with a soft strawberry bite. Your shoulders relaxed fully.
Toji watched, his coffee untouched. “Good?” he asked, checking more than the drink. You nodded, a small smile breaking through. “Good,” you said, voice soft but sure. He took a sip of his coffee, his hands nearly swallowing the mug, calloused fingers steady. A thin scar crossed one knuckle, catching the light. You wanted to ask about it, but the words stayed stuck. Instead, you sipped your lemonade, letting it ground you.
“So,” he said, setting his mug down. “You cook for your cat. What else you make?” His tone was easy, like he was picking up a thread from earlier, genuinely curious. You blinked, surprised. Your fingers tapped the glass lightly, a small fidget. “Mostly simple stuff,” you said, voice soft but steadier. “Turkey sandwiches with cranberry sauce. Scalloped potatoes sometimes. Things that, feel right.” You hesitated, cheeks warming. “Cozy, I guess.”
Toji’s lips twitched, like he was holding back a grin. “Cozy’s not a bad thing,” he said. “Beats takeout. You ever make soup? Seems like it’d suit you.” You tilted your head, thinking. “I’ve thought about it. Maybe potato leek. Or miso. But, no good recipe yet.” Your voice gained a little strength, the topic pulling you out of your shell. He nodded, like he was tucking that away. “I make a decent miso,” he said, casual. “Broth, miso paste, tofu. Nothing complicated. Keeps you warm.” He paused, then added, “Could show you sometime, if you want.”
Your heart did a small flip, the word sometime carrying a promise of more moments like this. You nodded, too shy to look up. “I’d like that.” The food arrived, golden fries and crisp chicken tenders in a red basket for you, a hefty burger for Toji, stacked with lettuce and tomato, the bun glossy with butter. The smell of warm bread and grilled meat mixed with your lemonade’s sweetness. You grabbed a fry, its warmth steadying your fingers, and took a bite. Salty, crisp, comforting. Your chest loosened.
Toji bit into his burger, chewing slowly, eyes half-closed like he was savoring it. You watched the way his jaw moved, the faint stubble catching the light. He caught you looking and raised an eyebrow, no judgment, just a spark of amusement. “What?” he asked, voice muffled. You flushed, shaking your head. “Nothing. Just, you seem to like it.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it felt like enough.
He chuckled, low and easy. “It’s a solid burger. Wanna try?” He tilted it toward you, not pushing. You shook your head, fingers tightening on a tender. “No, thanks. I, don’t do beef much.” He nodded, setting it down. “Fair enough.” He wiped his hands on a napkin. “You said chicken, turkey, sometimes pork. Why’s that?” The question felt natural, not prying. You broke a fry in half, fidgeting. “Texture,” you said softly. “Beef’s, heavy. Chewy sometimes. Chicken’s lighter. And I like knowing what’s in my food. Feels, safer.”
He nodded, no trace of judgment. “Makes sense. Control’s good.” He sipped his coffee, eyes flicking to you. “Knew someone once, real picky about food. Said it was about knowing what’s going in you.” You tilted your head, curious. “A friend?” The words slipped out, and you froze, worried you’d crossed a line. Toji’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Yeah. Old friend. Long time ago.” His voice had a weight, like there was more to the story, but he didn’t share, and you didn’t push. The small glimpse felt like enough.
You took another bite, chewing slowly. The diner’s warmth, the soft jukebox tune, Toji’s steady presence, it all made the air feel less heavy. You felt bold enough to ask, “Do you, like the city? You seem, okay with it.” He leaned back, arm along the booth. “It’s fine,” he said, thoughtful. “Loud, crowded, but you find quiet spots if you know where to look. Like here. Or that park.” He nodded toward the window, the neon sign buzzing faintly. “You just carve out your space.”
You nodded, his words hitting home. “I try. Quiet places help. But, it’s a lot sometimes.” Your fingers tapped the table, a small rhythm. Toji’s eyes softened slightly. “Yeah. Used to hate the noise myself. Still do, some days.” He paused, then added, “That’s why I notice folks like you. Ones who look like the city’s weighing on them.” Your breath caught, eyes flicking to his before darting away. He’d noticed, not just you, but people like you, carrying too much. Your cheeks warmed, and you focused on your tenders. “Didn’t think anyone would,” you murmured.
He shrugged, like it was obvious. “I do.” The words were plain but heavy, stirring something warm in your chest. The meal passed quietly, bites, sips, small words. Toji didn’t push you to talk, but he kept the silence light, commenting on the diner’s retro vibe or the coffee’s bite. You added quiet thoughts, a food truck you liked, how the lemonade was just right. Each word felt like a step forward.
When the plates were cleared, the server brought a slice of apple pie, ice cream melting into the crust. “On the house,” she said, her voice kinder than Kayla’s. Toji nudged it toward you. “You first.” You hesitated, then took a small bite. Warm apple, cinnamon, flaky crust, it was perfect. You closed your eyes briefly, savoring it. Toji watched, his expression soft. “Good?” he asked. You nodded, a small smile forming. “Really good,” you said, voice steady for the first time that night.
He took a bite after you, fork clinking lightly. The diner’s hum faded, and for a moment, it was just you, him, and the neon glow. You didn’t want it to end. The bill, covered by the manager, came and went. Toji stood, stretching, his shirt lifting slightly to show a sliver of skin. You looked away, cheeks warm, and gathered your bags. The night air was sharp as you stepped outside, the city’s hum quieter now. Toji matched your pace, bag over his shoulder, the sidewalk streaked with light from passing cars.
You walked in silence, bags crinkling, your apartment not far. Toji’s presence felt steady, his cologne faint but grounding. You glanced at him, catching the scar on his lip in the streetlight. At your building, a narrow brick walk-up with a flickering streetlamp, Toji stopped, eyeing the steep stairs. “Bags heavy?” he asked, voice casual but careful. “Want help getting them up?” Your heart skipped, the offer unexpected but warm. You hesitated, fingers tightening on the handles. Letting him into your space felt big, but his calm expression made it seem okay. “Um, yeah,” you said softly. “If you don’t mind.”
His lips curved slightly. “Don’t mind,” he said, taking a bag, his fingers brushing yours briefly. He nodded toward the stairs. “Lead the way.” You took a breath, clutching your remaining bag, and started up, Toji’s steps steady behind you. The city’s hum faded, and for a moment, the world felt lighter, like it could fit in the space between you.
✩˚｡⋆ Written with love by mintedmomments ⋆｡˚✩
If you’d like a Part 5, let me know.
