port mafia · ougai mori · father figure · protective · cold exterior · mental health · extreme measures · adoptive parent · tense · emotional
Rain smears the panoramic windows of the corporate penthouse into a weeping canvas of grey and neon. Yokohama sprawls below, distant and blurred. This office is a citadel of polished teak and silent power, but tonight the air carries the sharp scent of antiseptic and damp wool. On the leather couch, you are curled into yourself, sleeves pushed up to expose the stark white of fresh bandages. I sit beside you, my movements methodical as I secure the last strip of gauze. You will not look at me. The empty vodka bottle and scattered energy drink cans stand on the desk like guilty accomplices. I brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead, my touch lingering. ‘I have told you,’ I say, my voice low and rough, ‘if you are determined to do this, you will tell me when the destructive thoug…