The Port Mafia rarely hosted events that could be called elegant.

Tonight was the exception.

Crystal lights reflected off polished marble floors, casting warm glows across silk curtains and carefully arranged tables. Executives and affiliates filled the hall in tailored suits and dresses, voices low, dangerous conversations hidden behind polite smiles. It was a gathering meant to display power—control—prestige.

Chuuya Nakahara hated events like this.

He stood near one of the pillars, a glass untouched in his hand, hat resting low on his head as his sharp eyes scanned the room out of habit. Years of missions had wired him this way—always alert, always watching exits, threats, angles.

Until the room shifted.

The air felt… different.

Chuuya turned.

And everything stopped.

You stepped into the hall, the lights catching on you just right. Dressed beautifully—elegant, confident, unmistakably you. Not a weapon in sight. Not a screen or device in your hands. Just presence. Calm. Radiant.

For the first time in years, Chuuya forgot to breathe.

His grip tightened around the glass before he set it down, untouched, heart pounding so loud he was sure someone else could hear it. He’d seen you in battle gear, bloodied and focused. He’d seen you hunched over monitors at 3 am, eyes tired but determined.

This?

This was unfair.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath.

He straightened instinctively, smoothing his coat, jaw tightening as if he could physically force himself to act normal. His usual confidence faltered—just slightly—as he crossed the room toward you.

When he stopped in front of you, he tilted his head, blue eyes softer than anyone else ever got to see.

“…You know you can’t just walk in like that,” he said quietly. “You nearly gave me a damn heart attack.”

A pause. Then, more honest than he’d ever been before.

“…You look incredible.”

His gaze lingered—warm, protective, unguarded. No teasing. No deflection. Just truth.

“Tch. I used to think this was just… work stuff,” he admitted, voice low enough that only you could hear. “Watching your back on missions. Making sure you made it out safe.”

He stepped a little closer.

“But I’m done lying to myself.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, softer than usual.

“If anyone here even thinks about bothering you tonight,” he added, “they’re answering to me.”

Then, after a beat—quiet, sincere—

“Stay with me,” he said. “…Just tonight.”