055

The Port Mafia headquarters always carried a kind of stillness — like a held breath before a killing blow.

Even now, past midnight, the air inside felt stale. Tense. Like the walls remembered violence too vividly to sleep.

Chuuya Nakahara’s boots echoed down the corridor leading from the boss's office. His coat still carried the stench of old metal and crumbling dust, a souvenir from their earlier mission.

It had gone south.

Fast.

Too fast.

And it wasn’t just the logistics— the whole thing had felt wrong. Like the enemy had known every step they’d take before they even moved.

Dazai had said as much too, in that smug, cryptic way he always did, arms folded behind his head like they weren’t a hair away from walking into a grave.

They’d just finished debriefing Mori about it an hour ago.

Well, he had debriefed Mori. Dazai had taken over halfway, throwing in useless commentary like, “And then Chuuya tried to kick a wall. Real professional,” which earned him a solid kick in the shin.

“Your instincts were good,” Mori had told Chuuya, steepling his fingers like he always did, voice smooth and measured. “They were expecting you. Someone else is orchestrating things.”

Chuuya had scowled at that. He hated when enemies stayed faceless.

Mori didn’t name names. He rarely did.

Elise had been scribbling something with her crayons on the couch beside Mori, occasionally chiming in with unhelpful comments like, “Chuuya, you should wear a hat with feathers next time. You’d look prettier.”

He’d grumbled something about dignity and stormed off.

Now here he was, wandering the halls like a damn ghost, his nerves still humming with unease. The whole night felt cursed.

He passed the infirmary—

Paused.

Then took a few steps back.

Something in his gut tightened.

The door was cracked open. Just barely.

Inside, warm light spilled across sterile floors. Shadows moved.

He leaned closer and peeked in.

And blinked.

Mori was there. So was Elise, curled up on the couch with her crayons still.

But what made Chuuya freeze was you—seated on the cot, back straight despite the bandages wrapping your torso, blood still soaked through them in red splotches. Your coat was folded over a chair, stained and drying.

You looked... ruined.

And yet you were smiling.

Chuuya’s brows drew down.

Who the hell had managed to injure you this much?

You, of all people.

Your ability made you practically untouchable. If you bled, it meant someone had outplayed you.

Mori stood before you, unusually gentle with his hands as he redressed your shoulder wound.

He looked... oddly paternal.

Chuuya stared, unsure what to make of the image.

He hadn’t planned to eavesdrop.

But then—

“I think they’re my soulmate.”

Your voice was breathless. Dreamy. Like you were halfway drunk off morphine or high on—

Wait. What?

Chuuya blinked, his expression flickering between confusion and disbelief. Soulmate? You?

He stayed perfectly still, eyes narrowing slightly.

Inside, Mori hummed, neither amused nor surprised. “And what makes you so certain, my boy?”

You exhaled, leaning forward slightly. “They knew me. Down to my habits. My patterns. They didn’t go for a fatal blow. No— this wasn’t just an assassination. It was a love letter.”

Chuuya almost choked on his own saliva.

You continued, a little too giddy for someone dripping blood onto sterile sheets. “They could’ve killed me. But they didn’t. They wanted to leave a mark. A message. Romantic, isn’t it?”

“It’s unhinged,” Elise mumbled, not looking up from her drawing. “Rintarou, he’s got brain damage.”

Mori chuckled. “He’s just... passionate.”

“Oh, I’ll show him passionate,” Elise muttered.

Chuuya stared, more disturbed by the second.

“Is this a fever dream?” he muttered under his breath.

“Seems like it.”

Chuuya jumped, nearly elbowing the wall.

Dazai stood beside him.

Too close.

Too quiet.

Typical.

“You creep!” Chuuya hissed.

Dazai didn’t smirk like usual. He wasn’t smiling at all.

He was staring through the door, eyes sharp, jaw tight.

His voice, when he spoke again, was colder. “L/N-san's finally losing it.”

Chuuya folded his arms, keeping his voice low. “Whoever did this... they had to have studied him. His teleportation. His preferences. That’s not easy to pull off.”

“No,” Dazai murmured. “It’s not.”

Inside, you laughed.

A low, delighted sound that made Chuuya’s skin crawl in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Do you think it’s a woman?” you asked Mori. “Because if so, I might consider children. But if it’s a man... elopement might be easier. Less messy.”

“I feel immense pity towards whoever who catches your interest,” Elise cut in flatly.

Mori’s tone was mild. “I prefer two grandchildren. Balanced numbers.”

Chuuya’s mouth parted. “...What the hell is going on in there?”

Dazai finally tore his eyes away from you.

He looked... angry.

Not his usual theatrical fury.

Just quiet. Stiff.

Something about the sight of you like this clearly pissed him off more than he let on.

He scoffed. “He’s romanticizing attempted murder. That’s not love, that’s delusion.”

“I don’t think he cares,” Chuuya muttered.

“I know he doesn’t,” Dazai said. “That’s the problem.”

Inside, Mori was still humoring you. He didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he looked entertained. Like a father indulging a child’s ridiculous fantasy.

Only the child in question had been shot and stabbed and was now declaring devotion to a ghost with a knife.

Mori rebandaged your side with clinical precision. “You said they aimed to injure, not kill?”

“Mm,” you nodded, eyes still glowing with that unnerving fondness. “The puppet stabbed me like a panicked animal. Sloppy. But the timing? The setup? Perfect.”

Chuuya rubbed his temple. “He's talking like it was foreplay.”

Dazai exhaled harshly. “Because that’s how his mind works.”

“I never said I wanted love,” you said suddenly, more serious now. “Not love. That sort of thing... rots. It crumbles. Turns beautiful things into ruins, especially when faced with the truth.”

Chuuya glanced at Dazai. Dazai’s expression didn’t change, but the muscles in his jaw twitched.

“Fake love,” you continued. “That’s more manageable. Controlled. Artful. I like that. But this? This—”

You tilted your head.

“This feels like obsession. The purest form of love. It's romantic. And it won't fall apart even when faced with devastation.”

Mori set the bloodied gauze aside. “And you like it?”

You smiled, soft and sharp all at once. “I adore it.”

Mori sighed, fond and exasperated. “You always did have a twisted taste in affection.”

“Must’ve learned it from you,” you murmured.

Mori laughed, and for a moment, it almost sounded fatherly.

Chuuya’s frown deepened. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like how natural this all looked.

The way you leaned into the pain. The way Mori responded like it was nothing new. The way Dazai beside him was gripping the doorframe just a bit too hard.

Chuuya tried to lighten the mood. “Well, at least he’s not planning revenge.”

“He’s planning a wedding,” Dazai growled. “With a stranger who nearly gutted him.”

“You’re just jealous,” Chuuya smirked.

That got Dazai to look at him. A sharp glare.

“You wish I was jealous.”

Chuuya raised a brow. “Aren’t you?”

“Shut up, hat rack.”

Inside, Mori finished wrapping your shoulder. “You’ll live. Try not to get stabbed again. Elise-chan is sick of cleaning blood off the carpet.”

“I’m not your maid!” Elise yelled, flinging a crayon at him.

It bounced off his forehead.

Mori smiled sweetly. “Of course not, Elise-chan.”

Chuuya stepped back as you started humming a tune under your breath.

He looked at Dazai again. “So... what now?”

Dazai’s eyes were unreadable. “Now we find out who’s pulling the strings.”

“You got a plan?”

Dazai didn’t answer.

But the silence said enough.

Chuuya exhaled.

“Great,” he muttered. “Just what we need. A lunatic obsessed with another lunatic.”

“You aren't any better,” Dazai said dryly.

Chuuya elbowed him. “Screw you.”

Dazai smirked faintly. “You wish.”

They turned to leave.

Behind them, the door to the infirmary creaked softly closed.

The last thing Chuuya heard before it shut completely was your voice.

Quiet. Pleased. Dangerous.

“I wonder what flowers they like. Roses feel too obvious. Maybe something more poisonous...”

Chuuya shook his head.

Absolutely unhinged.

And somehow, this was only the beginning.