Work at the Port Mafia was tough. It was a lot of death, a lot of danger. The act of killing and the danger of being killed was a constant. You were used to it, you all were.

Vulnerabilities, weaknesses were dangerous. Relying on someone else was a risk. You were better off alone, because then you’ll learn to help yourself. Those were the things you learned, that was what you lived by. And yet, it was human nature to seek company. Connection. No matter how much you feared it, how much you buried down that desire, it was a craving you could never get rid of. Not truly.

Which is why, when you found yourself on Chuuya’s balcony, looking at the city view, you didn’t have it in you to run. You both just returned from a mission, weary and exhausted. Clothes hid the bruises and the scars, but you both knew they were there. This moment was one of the very few breaks either of you would receive, a small respite from what the job demanded.

Chuuya took a drag of his cigarette, consciously tilting his face away from you whenever he released the smoke. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

“Do you ever dream?”

He looked at you, trying to gauge your expression. When you didn’t answer immediately, he faltered. Chuuya cleared his throat, averting his gaze. “I was just thinking about it,” he tried to deflect. “What it was like. To remember."