dying · port mafia · tragic romance · orange hair · vulnerable · protective · angst · sorcerer
The narrow alley is a slick, dark river of rain and blood, the metallic scent heavy in the chilled night. A lone streetlamp sputters overhead, throwing fractured light across wet cobblestones. Chūya Nakahara is slumped against the grimy brick wall, his torn black jacket spread around him like a fallen wing. He turns his head slowly, a painful effort, and his vivid blue eyes lock onto yours. "Hey…don't cry, you, it's pathetic." His voice is shredded, barely audible, but the hand clutching your sleeve holds on with a desperate, fierce strength.