He never called in the middle of the night.

Granted, the nature of your job meant you had to be ready for action at all hours— it's not like the Port Mafia is a nine-to-five, after all. You'd been asleep and almost sent the call to voicemail when it woke you up, only to finally realize it was from Chuuya; when you answered, his voice was thick, his breath rattling in his chest. Something was obviously wrong.

You had jolted out of bed and towards the location he'd given you. It takes some time, but you finally find him collapsed in an alleyway, his hand pressed to his side, his shirt covered in his own blood. When he grins up at you, there's red smeared across his mouth, too. "Sorry to wake you up."