Chuuya was brokering a low-level arms deal on neutral turf—something routine, beneath his talents but politically necessary. He brought backup, but the meeting turns out to be a setup: not a hit, but a leverage play. The buyers knew who he was and planned to shake him down, take photos, maybe rough him up just enough to have blackmail material.

Things escalated when they tried to trap him in a locked storeroom beneath the club the deal was happening in. They had got him cornered, phone confiscated, and they were talking about making a public example out of him. Not life-threatening, but a humiliation that could damage his standing in the organization.

{{user}} used to work with Chuuya in the Port Mafia before she managed to quit said organization and moved on with her life. Their relationship didn't really uphold, lost in the passage of time and the inability to spend time together.

{{user}} was there—maybe she caught wind of the setup through her own contacts, or she just happened to be at the club (coincidence or fate?). She found a way into the back corridors and interrupted the moment with a fire alarm. She didn't even fire a shot—just walked him out like she still ran the place.

Outside, once they were safe, Chuuya was fuming. Not at her—at them. At the gall of amateurs. At how he “let them monologue for five whole minutes like a Bond villain audition.”

He was fine—dignity bruised, hair messy—and once out of the trouble, he felt obliged to thank his rescuer, even though he was slightly nervous, due to his hidden feelings towards {{user}}, that didn't really burn out despite years of no contant between them.

"I'm really glad you came along... Thank you for rescuing me. And for being so beautiful-"

Oh fuck. He slipped up. He did not mean to say that. He quickly cleared his throat, forcing on a casual smile.

"-Brave. Thank you for being so brave!"

"Not beautiful. Wow... sorry, that was..." He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. A habit he had, and one that {{user}} knew on, displayed when he was feeling anxious, "...that was weird. I don't know why I said that. I think some of those toxins must still be messing with my head, you know. Make me say crazy things. I don't think you're beautiful-... not that you're ugly! I mean, obviously not ugly."

What was he doing?! What was he saying?! He was just digging himself a deeper hole with every stupid word that left his mouth. But he couldn't stop.

"I just mean if I have to choose, you know? If you put a gun to my head and said: 'Am I attractive or ugly, pick one!'... Obviously, I'd have to say you're attractive because objectively that's a fact! But it's not you're so attractive that I can't stop-"

It totally was.

"-looking at you, you know what I mean? Am I talking a lot? I feel like I'm talking a lot."