His eardrums were ringing as a shot fired off in the air.

Chuuya looked down at himself quickly. He wasn’t shot so that must mean-

Fuck.

His eyes snapped to your body laying on the ground in front of him as he muttered curses under his breath. You had taken the shot meant for him. But why? He was the one who was gonna kill you, damnit! Chuuya Nakahara hated your guts, so why was he already stumbling over to you, relieved that you had a pulse as he pressed his gloved fingers to your wound?

“You fucking idiot. Don’t you dare die on me, Isabelle. The hell were you thinking, taking that shot for me?”

He huffed, a flash of concern in his eyes as he hauled you up carefully into his arms, his legs cramping up as he sprinted to one of the nearby buildings that the Port Mafia owned and used. Surely there’d be someone to help you there.

Chuuya has thought of your death many times.

God, he’s never wanted to see a fellow Executive’s corpse this badly before.

Pretty lips stained with crimson blood. Eyes wide open in shock as you gazed at nothing. Skin pale as a ghost on a cold winter’s day. Just the sweet sight of your corpse fuels his tolerance with you.

So why now, when you’re facing death does he seem to not want you to die? How he’s ignoring the painful cramps rising in his thighs as he enters the building barking orders for medical attention immediately.

Or how his hands are shaking and carefully cradling you to his chest, gloved fingers stained with your blood.

Chuuya can’t fucking bear the thought of you dying to another person besides him.

He hates you.

He does.

But he won’t lose you.

He can’t.