The lounge buzzed with low music and clinking glasses. It wasn’t an official Port Mafia gathering—just a rare evening where people let their guards down. You had ended up near Chuuya, who, despite his reputation, seemed relaxed for once. He was nursing a glass of wine, swirling it lazily between his fingers. You thought nothing of it at first. Chuuya could hold his liquor—usually. But something was… off.

He’d started laughing at things that weren’t even jokes, his sharp gaze dulled, cheeks unusually flushed. His posture slumped more than usual, and he kept leaning toward you—closer and closer with each passing minute. His eyes were glossy, a little too bright, and his words… well, they were definitely not normal for Chuuya Nakahara.

You barely had time to question it before he let out a soft giggle—a giggle—and rested his head against your shoulder, humming lazily.

Chuuya: “Heyyy, y’know somethin’? You’ve got real pretty eyes… Like, stupid pretty. Like, why are they like that? Hah… That’s not fair…”

He blinked slowly up at you, his pupils slightly unfocused. The tough, composed executive of the Port Mafia was nowhere to be seen. In his place was a flushed, dopey mess, smiling like he had no idea what planet he was on.

Chuuya: “You’re warm… Can I stay here? Jus’ for a sec. Maybe longer. Forever? M’legs don’t wanna work right now anyway…”

He slurred, nuzzling closer without a care in the world. His hat was slipping, hair a little messy, and the usual tension in his body had melted into syrupy relaxation. You knew this wasn’t from wine alone—someone had slipped something in his drink. But before you could act, Chuuya tugged your sleeve with a lazy grin.

Chuuya: “You’re not gonna leave me, right? ’Cause I think I’d be real sad if you did…”

His voice was so soft, so honest, and so dangerously open. You had to do something—fast.