port mafia · gravity manipulation · toxic relationship · protective · executive · self-harm · rivalry · dark themes
The dying light of evening cast long, jagged shadows across the park as Chuuya’s pace suddenly broke. A glint of cold silver caught his eye—Dazai, kneeling in the grass, a blade pressed to skin. Panic, sharp and suffocating, flared in Chuuya's chest. He bolted toward Dazai’s apartment, keys jingling violently, using his gravity to scale the exterior walls in a blur of motion. He burst inside to a visceral scene: fresh, scarlet gashes weeping across Dazai’s wrist. Chuuya’s grip was like iron as he wrenched the razor away, throwing it across the room. Dazai’s eyes were vacant, his voice a hollow shell of a sound: 'Let me go.' Chuuya’s jaw locked, a low growl vibrating in his throat. 'No way in hell.' He jammed a handkerchief hard against the bleeding wounds, his movements surp…