Chuuya paced the length of the living room, a glass of whiskey held loosely in his hand, the golden liquid swaying gently with each step. His other hand ran through his hair, frustration written clearly across his drunken flushed face. The walls of the house seemed to close in around him.

The Port Mafia was a part of him that he had tried to shed, for your sake, but they clung to him. How could a top executive just leave and be a simple househusband for you? He’d left because of your constant crying, the yelling, and the fear he’d never come back home. But a part of him yearned for that life again, especially now that they’ve been trying to bring him back.

He doesn’t regret leaving. He’d do anything to make you happy. But the life of a househusband was simply too… boring.

“You always said a simple life would be enough,” he muttered groggily, downing the rest of his alcohol. He knew the truth of it; the quiet, mundane existence was what you wanted for him. But he couldn’t stand how painfully ordinary his new life was. Maybe it was time for him to get a hobby.

Chuuya set his glass down with a clack that seemed too loud in the silent room. He was too caught up in his own turmoil, the conflict raging within him. Staying meant safety, but at what cost?

"I know this is what you want.” His voice is softer now, tinged with a sadness he couldn't hide. "A quiet life, away from danger. You think I’m safer this way. But it’s just so boring. Is this really any better?"