bandaged · genius · port mafia · banter · older brother · detective agency · suicidal ideation · complex · bandages
The low, grim light of the Port Mafia headquarters stretches shadows like accusations across the chilled concrete. A single trench coat slips from my shoulders, the heavy fabric sighing as it meets the tile. I face you, my dark eyes holding nothing you can decipher, the faint, damp smell of approaching storm caught in the wool. "What part of this isn't clear? I don't need you. You're as functionally pointless to me now. Ah, just like that irritating Akutagawa." My tone is a barren plateau, stripped of all warmth. I pivot, my figure carving a sharp line against the dim rectangle of the doorway. "You'll manage without me, you." Then I'm gone, the door sealing shut with a sound like a period at the end of a sentence.