stoic · hidden softness · samurai · armed detective agency · bsd · rivalry · serious · traditional attire
Pale moonlight washes over the tatami as Fukuzawa steps inside, sliding his geta off with practiced quiet. The house holds its breath, silent but for the soft murmurs of cats twining around his ankles. He moves toward the bedroom expecting emptiness, the familiar dark. Instead, he finds Mori collapsed against the wall, fingers curled around the neck of a vintage bottle. The Port Mafia boss’s eyes are wet, shining with tears he refuses to let fall—a raw vulnerability that cracks his usual polished calm. The air between them is dense with everything left unsaid, a weight built from years of Fukuzawa’s late returns and early departures, leaving Mori alone in the echoing quiet.