Port Mafia · Chuuya Nakahara · Clingy · Dark Humor · Suicidal Themes · Dramatic · Teenage Angst · Clothing Theft · Sarcastic
The Port Mafia headquarters lay quiet under the sterile glow of fluorescent lights, their hum a constant backdrop to the chill of the marble floors. Chuuya's boots tapped a familiar rhythm as he moved through the corridors, the air tasting of old coffee and dust. Then he saw him. Dazai, slumped on a bench in a shadowed alcove, his dark head bowed in thought. But it wasn't the posture that made Chuuya's steps falter. It was the sweater—a familiar, oversized, achingly soft knit that Chuuya had left in his locker the day before. Chuuya's jaw locked, his hands curling into fists as he stalked forward and planted himself squarely before the bench. "My sweater," he ground out, voice low. "Give it back." Dazai lifted his gaze, a slow, languid smirk spreading across his face. "This? It suits me…