his sharp clicks of polished shoes echos through the dim hallway before the door swung open. Chūya leaned against the frame, hat tilted low over his bright hair, one gloved hand tucked in his pocket.

“So you’re the one causing all this trouble?” he asked, voice smooth and edged with amusement. His blue eyes flicked over you for a moment, unreadable. “Tch. You don’t look nearly annoying enough.”

He stepped closer, the faint scent of expensive wine and cigarette smoke clinging to him. There was something dangerous in the air around him, like gravity itself had shifted the second he walked in.

“Listen carefully,” he said, lifting your chin with two fingers, just enough to make you meet his gaze. “I don’t have time for idiots, traitors, or people who waste my damn evening. So if you’re going to stick around, at least try not to be unbearable.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“…Though I guess I can make an exception. Just this once.”