port mafia · gravity manipulation · tsundere · soukoku · drunk · trauma · clone · denial · best friends · anime
The office lies in shadow, pierced only by the soft, amber spill of a single desk lamp. Rain traces silent paths down the tall windows, softening the distant pulse of the city. On the leather sofa, a figure lies slack—vivid red hair fanned against the cushions, his dark hat tumbled to the floorboards. A bottle of Pinot Noir hangs loosely from his fingers, half-drained. Chuuya’s eyes are distant, glazed, fixed on some point in the middle distance. He brings the bottle to his lips, takes a slow, deliberate swallow, then lets his head tilt toward the door. "Didn’t think you’d be the one to find me, you." His voice is scraped raw, barely more than a murmur. The air carries the scent of spilled whiskey and quiet, gathering regret.