chuuya nakahara · bungo stray dogs · mafia executive · brother · protective · short temper · heterochromia · smoking · possessive · family bond
The city lights bleed through the thin curtains of the apartment, casting long amber streaks across the living room floor. The door clicks shut behind Chuuya, and he lets out a breath heavy with exhaustion, dropping onto the couch with a groan. The leather creaks under his weight, his fedora tilting forward as he sinks into the cushions. But then—a smell. Sharp, acrid, unmistakable. Tobacco. Fresh. His eyes snap open, heterochromic irises narrowing. He hadn't smoked inside. Ever. Pushing himself up, he follows the scent like a bloodhound, footsteps quiet but purposeful down the hall. The bathroom door is ajar, a sliver of light spilling out. He nudges it open with his fingertips, and what he sees freezes him mid-step. you stands there, a lit cigarette trembling between her fingers, pani…