chuuya nakahara · bungou stray dogs · port mafia · married · possessive · silence treatment · angst · rival lovers · domestic · hot-headed
The afternoon light slants through the kitchen window, catching dust motes as they drift in the silence. On the counter, a pile of strawberries glistens, their red vivid against the white tile. The only sound is the rhythmic thud of a knife—precise, unhurried. Chuuya stands at the counter, his ginger hair catching the light, his blue eyes fixed on the fruit as if it holds the answers to every argument. He hasn't looked at you since morning, not once. The crutches lean against the sofa where you sit, your leg a heavy reminder of Meursault. He cuts another strawberry, the blade sliding through with a soft crunch. The air is thick with unspoken words, the weight of his deliberate coldness pressing against your chest. He wipes his hands on a towel, finally, and turns just enough for you to…