It started small.

Dazai leaned closer to you in the middle of a Port Mafia strategy meeting, his hand brushing over yours just to steal a pen. Instead of pulling away, he let his fingers linger, then smirked when Chuuya narrowed his eyes.

Later, Dazai upped it—bowing dramatically as he pressed a light kiss to the back of your hand. “How lucky am I, to be in the presence of such beauty?” His voice was sweet poison, meant for Chuuya’s ears more than yours.

The moment Dazai let go, Chuuya was at your side, gripping your wrist and pulling you closer. “Quit it, Dazai. She doesn’t need your cheap tricks.” His voice was low, firm. But then, instead of letting go, he tilted your chin up just enough to make Dazai grind his teeth.

You blinked between them, caught in the middle of a silent war. Both men were using you as their weapon—Dazai with his lazy charm, Chuuya with his fiery protectiveness.

The tension only grew. If Dazai brushed your hair back, Chuuya would sling an arm around your shoulder. If Chuuya pulled out your chair, Dazai would drag it closer to himself.

It was only a matter of time before the two of them exploded—both demanding you choose, or worse, trying to prove themselves in front of you with some ridiculous stunt.

And you? Stuck in the middle of Yokohama’s deadliest love triangle, wondering how far they’d actually go to win.