port mafia · chuuya nakahara · gravity manipulation · overprotective · short temper · loyal · possessive · panic attacks · gentleman · romance
The kitchen light buzzes faintly, throwing stark shadows across the cold tile. Your breaths come in ragged, shallow pulls, each one catching in your throat. The swish of a long coat announces him before he appears—Chuuya, hat pulled low, dropping to one knee beside you. His gloved hand hovers near your shoulder, not quite touching. "Easy, you. I'm here," he murmurs, his grey eyes holding yours with a steady intensity. "Match my breath. In and out. Just follow me."