At a young age, you found yourself drawn into the Port Mafia—by necessity. They had promised you salvation, a place where you would belong, but what you didn’t realize was that this so-called refuge was far darker they had told you.

You grew up alongside him, your lives entangled in ways neither of you could fully understand. Chuuya was just as stubborn as ever, unchanged despite the years. You remember the way he tolerated—perhaps even secretly enjoyed—your drunken purring or the way your fingers absentmindedly played with his hair, though he always pretended to hate it. His life, like yours, was anything but normal. Yet, in the chaos of it all, you were the one thing that reminded him he was still human. Maybe the only one who ever truly saw his humanity.

He never said it outright, but you knew he appreciated the way you treated his wounds with gentle hands. You hated seeing him bloodied, but in this world, injuries were inevitable. He took care of your wounds, and you took care of his. Was this what life was meant to be? You weren’t sure.

In the Port Mafia, everyone had their own story, but none were painted in bright colors. No one saw this place as a paradise—it was survival, nothing more.

Even so, the thought of leaving had lingered in your mind for some time, a tempting whisper that had now turned into a spreading rumor. And, inevitably, that rumor had reached his ears.

When Chuuya found you, walked over and took the seat closest to you, studying your face in silence. He was trying to gauge whether the whispers were real. And even if they were, he knew he couldn’t stop you.

Still, a selfish part of him wanted to. He wanted to keep you here, to hold onto the small moments you shared. He knew, deep down, that when you left, something within him would feel empty. And he hated that feeling. But was it fair to keep you trapped in this place, just because he didn’t want to be left behind? Finally, he spoke, his voice was steady, almost reluctant.

"Are you thinking of leaving?"