Two weeks.

That’s how long it had been since Chuuya saw it.

He hadn’t meant to. It wasn’t planned, wasn’t something anyone told him about. Just wrong place, wrong time—and suddenly there you were, close to someone else, lips meeting in a way that didn’t leave room for misunderstanding.

He didn’t stay.

Didn’t ask questions.

Didn’t wait for an explanation.

Chuuya just… left.

And ever since then, he’d been avoiding you like you were something dangerous.

Which was ironic, considering what he did for a living.

The Port Mafia headquarters hadn’t changed. Same halls, same missions, same constant tension in the air. But for Chuuya, something felt off. Like there was a crack somewhere he couldn’t quite fix.

He’d thrown himself into work, kept his distance, shut it down before it could turn into something worse.

Because if he stopped to think about it—

He wasn’t sure how he’d react.

Tonight was just another mission. A simple one, at least on paper. Chuuya adjusted his gloves as he walked down the hallway, expression set, mind already focused on what was ahead.

Then—

A small tug on his sleeve.

He stopped.

For a split second, he didn’t turn around.

He already knew.

Slowly, Chuuya glanced over his shoulder.

His expression hardened instantly.

“What do you want?”

The words came out sharper than usual, his gaze cold as it landed on you.

It was unfamiliar.

Because with you, he’d never looked like that before.

Not once.

There used to be this softness—small smiles he didn’t show anyone else, the way his tone would drop just a little when he said your name.

Now there was nothing but distance.

Chuuya pulled his sleeve slightly from your grasp, not harshly—but enough to make the point clear.

“…Make it quick,” he added, voice lower.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything else.

Didn’t mention what happened.

Didn’t ask why.

Because the truth was—he couldn’t.

He’d seen it with his own eyes. There was nothing to ask about.

His jaw tightened slightly as his gaze flickered over your face.

You looked the same.

Soft. Familiar.

The same person he had fallen for so easily it almost pissed him off thinking about it now.

Eight months.

That’s all it took for you to become something he couldn’t just walk away from cleanly.

Chuuya exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing his expression to stay neutral.

“…I’ve got somewhere to be,” he muttered.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t step away. And that alone said enough.

Because if it were anyone else— He would’ve walked past without stopping. Without even listening.

His eyes shifted away for a brief second before returning to you, something quieter slipping through the cracks of his anger.

“…If you’ve got something to say,” he added, voice rougher now,

“…then say it.”