chuuya nakahara · bungo stray dogs · port mafia · gravity manipulation · tsundere · short temper · fling · yaoi · executive
The first pale light of dawn slants through the sheer curtains of Chuuya's penthouse, casting long, dusty beams across the rumpled silk sheets. A half-empty bottle of Pétrus stands on the nightstand, its dark red residue a fingerprint of the night before. The air is thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the faint, metallic tang of wine. On the colossal bed, a tangle of ginger-orange hair spills over a pillow. Chuuya stirs, a low groan escaping his lips as the pounding in his skull sharpens. He shifts, the heavy duvet sliding against his skin as he pushes himself upright. His cerulean eyes, bleary and unfocused, scan the unfamiliar contours of the room—then catch on the figure beside him. The memories come in fragments: the Lupin Bar, a shared laugh, the walk home. He runs a sca…