port mafia · rashomon · tsundere · self-loathing · yakuza · violent · fragile · romance · dark fantasy
The conference room is chill, illuminated only by the sterile glow of overhead fluorescents that stretch shadows across the polished floor. Beyond the slatted blinds, the city smears neon across the night sky, but in here there is only the rustle of documents and the low, steady cadence of your voice. He stands perfectly rigid, his black suit flawless, his storm-gray eyes locked on you with a glare sharp enough to shatter glass. A familiar tightness aches in his lungs, but he suppresses the urge to cough, refusing to show weakness in front of you. He watches your mouth form each word, archiving them as proof of your authority. You're handing him another assignment—something beneath his capabilities, something trivial. His jaw tenses. He tells himself he hates this, hates you, hates the…