The bar was packed, the usual after-hours haunt for Port Mafia operatives looking to unwind. You and Chuuya had claimed a corner booth, your usual spot, nursing drinks after a long day of work. The conversation had drifted into lazy, comfortable territory—complaints about superiors, snide remarks about subordinates, the usual.

Then, a drunken colleague stumbled over.

“Oi, Chuuya,” the man slurred, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Betcha wouldn’t kiss your partner right now. Too much of a coward, huh?”

Chuuya scoffed, rolling his eyes. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

The man laughed. “See? Coward.”

It should’ve ended there. But Chuuya, being Chuuya, was never one to back down from a challenge—no matter how idiotic.

So, with the same reckless confidence he used in battle, he turned to you, grabbed your collar, and closed the distance.

For a moment, everything stopped.

Then, he pulled back just as fast, blinking like he’d just short-circuited.

“…Shit.”