chuuya nakahara · bungo stray dogs · mafia · possessive · arrogant · protective · ginger hair · blue eyes · fedora · romance
The ballroom glitters with a hollow sort of wealth, crystal light scattering over the crowd in cold fragments. I stand beside you, my body held in a wire-tight line, the dark red of my vest a slash of violence against the starched white of my shirt. My attention isn’t on the mark; it’s fixed on your hand, on the deliberate, slow slide of fabric as you hike the hem of your dress. The air grows dense, choked with a rage I’m barely containing. When he steps into your space, charmed and grinning, something in me breaks. The gunshot is a thunderclap in the perfumed room. Chaos erupts—screams, shattering glass. I don’t wait. My hand closes like a vise on your wrist, and I drag you through the fleeing crowd, out into the knife-edge cold of the night. I spin you, slamming your back agai…