032

Chuuya was sweating.

And it wasn’t because of the heat. Hell, the Port Mafia’s underground cells were notoriously cold—stone, steel, and shadows—but right now?

His palms were clammy, his breath uneven, his heartbeat hammering like he was about to get caught doing something really stupid.

Because, well—

He was.

The redhead pressed his back against the chilled wall, just around the corner from Suzuki Akari’s cell.

A place he’d been told to check—not spy, not eavesdrop, not plant himself like a goddamn wallflower while things he didn’t understand unfolded just meters away.

But what the hell was he supposed to do?

He’d come here on Mori’s orders—“Just check in on L/N-kun,” the boss had said, voice pleasant and eerily amused.

“He’s been spending a lot of time down there. I want a second opinion.”

Chuuya had thought nothing of it at first.

He respected you, as much as someone could respect a man with eyes like coffins and a soul stitched together with knives.

The two of you weren’t close—not really—but both of you...got along, if that's even how someone would call it as.

And if Mori wanted eyes on his executive, well… Chuuya figured he’d poke in, make sure nothing was on fire, and leave.

So, he headed down to the underground cells. Quiet, careful.

And now?

Now he was crouched behind a pillar just a few meters from the reinforced cell door, heart hammering in his chest as he tried to make sense of the scene playing out before him.

You were inside with her.

The girl. The one you’d kidnapped—the one you said was your sister.

Chuuya hadn’t believed it at first. You? Having family? That sounded like a bad punchline.

You barely treated people like they were human. Even Mori looked like he kept you on a leash half the time.

But then—

Then he heard it.

Muffled, but unmistakable.

Sobs.

What he didn’t expect—

What he definitely didn’t expect—

Was to hear you, of all people, crying.

Not loud. Not broken. Controlled. Like you were trying to hide it. But he knew that sound.

Chuuya’s skin prickled.

What the hell was he witnessing?

You, the infamous executive—unshakable, silver tongued, terrifying—were crying. In front of the girl you had chained up and locked in a cell.

Chuuya was frozen.

He’d thought, for a second, that maybe he’d misheard. That maybe she was crying.

But then he got closer. Just a little. He could hear voices—hers, smooth and saccharine, laced with carefully placed regret—and yours, quieter.

Like your breath was caught in your chest and you didn’t know what to do with it.

He shouldn't be here. He knew that.

This was none of his business.

But still… he crept closer. Just enough to hear the murmur of voices.

Your voice—soft. Fluid. Like velvet dragged across a knife’s edge.

Hers—syrupy. Sweet. Fake. Chuuya could smell the performance in it a mile away.

He grit his teeth. It was like listening to a stage play you didn’t audition for, and yet couldn’t look away from.

If you cared about her so damn much—enough to cry in her arms, damn it—then why the hell was she rotting in a cell like a caged dog?

None of it made sense.

And just as he leaned forward a bit more—

Click.

The door to the cell opened.

Then footsteps—yours.

Shit.

Panic surged through him. He bolted sideways, ducking into the narrow cranny where two walls met like a dagger’s edge.

It was barely wide enough to fit him, and his hat nearly scraped the piping above. But it’d do. You hadn’t seen him. He was sure of it.

He could just wait. You’d walk past. He’d pretend this never happened.

Easy.

Wait—

Chuuya paused.

Why was he hiding? What the hell was he doing?

He wasn’t the one acting shady! You were!

But it was too late now. He was already stuck between two walls like some kind of schoolboy sneaking around.

He held his breath, waiting.

Footsteps.

Slow. Calm. He could picture your expression even without seeing it—half lidded gaze, lazy smile, like the world was just a little joke you hadn’t told yet.

Then—

"Oh, Chuuya! There you are!"

The sudden voice so close—too close—nearly gave him a heart attack.

Your face popped into his vision like a horror show’s jumpscare, smiling cheerfully as though you hadn’t just been emotionally unraveling two seconds ago in a high security isolation cell.

Chuuya flinched so hard he smacked the back of his head on the pipe above.

“L-L/N-san!?” he barked, stumbling a step back, wide-eyed and flustered.

“What the hell—?! Don’t sneak up on people like that!”

You tilted your head. “You were hiding. I thought you were playing a game.”

“…I wasn’t—!” Chuuya ran a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself.

“I mean—I was just walking by! Not that I was listening or anything!”

Your smile widened, all teeth and sunlight and wrong. "Oh, good. That makes it more fun."

Fun!? Chuuya felt his brain short-circuit. He looked closer at you, despite himself—and immediately regretted it.

Because now?

Now he couldn’t not see it.

The tear streaks. Thin and pale, just barely drying against your cheeks.

The way your eyes—usually dark and glossy like obsidian—were faintly red around the edges, like you’d rubbed them raw just moments before.

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“…You okay?” he asked finally, voice softer. Almost reluctant.

Your smile didn’t fade.

If anything, it widened.

“Why, Chuuya,” you purred, stepping just a bit closer, “are you worried about me?”

He looked at you, really looked. Then—

“You know, L/N-san… you can tell me anything that’s bothering you,” Chuuya scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, eyes flicking away like a kid caught off guard.

“Even if we’re not close, I’ll listen,” his voice was low, almost embarrassed, but the offer was genuine.

The sincerity in his words caught you off guard.

For a moment, you faltered—a crack in your armor—your usual mask slipping just enough to reveal something almost… vulnerable.

Like a fragile thing barely holding itself together.

Chuuya saw it.

But before he could say more, your expression snapped back into place, a teasing grin curling your lips.

“Is that so?” you purred, smiling with a dangerous glint. “How cute of you to say that.”

“Mm.” You hummed, thoughtful. “She apologized.”

“…That’s why you cried?” Chuuya’s voice cracked halfway through.

“What—what even is this dynamic you two have?”

You looked amused. “Oh, it’s very touching, Chuuya. She tried to play me. I let her think it worked. She cried, I cried, she smiled, and I smiled back. A beautiful family reunion.”

Chuuya stared.

You were smiling like a lunatic. Calm. Content.

The red flush around your eyes hadn’t faded yet, but there wasn’t a hint of lingering sorrow in your expression. In fact, you looked… giddy.

As if you’d just pulled off some perfect punchline only you knew the joke to.

It was terrifying.

Chuuya cleared his throat. “Right. Sure. Family reunion. That’s… good. I guess.”

You took a step forward.

He instinctively took a step back.

Then—your voice, chipper as ever: “Say, Chuuya. Want to go shopping with me?”

“…Ah?” Chuuya blinked, completely thrown.

“What?”