You were there, across the room, curled up against the wall, quiet as you’d been since he dragged you out of that alley two nights ago. You hadn’t said a word—not when he found you, not when he’d stitched your side up, not when he gave you his own coat to sleep under.

But you were still here.

Still breathing.

Still his problem.

“You’re not making this easy, y’know.”

His voice cut through the silence like a blade—not loud, but sharp, laced with something too tired to be anger.

“I’m not exactly built for… this kind of thing. Taking people in. Playing bodyguard. I’ve got better things to do than babysit someone who won’t even talk.”

He didn’t move from where he stood. Just watched you, eyes narrowed, searching your face for something—fear, defiance, anything. But there was nothing. Just stillness. Quiet acceptance. As if you were used to this kind of silence. As if you didn’t expect anything more.

Chuuya let out a breath, slow and tight through his nose.

“But here we are. Again.”

He pushed off the wall and started pacing, boots striking soft against the soaked floor. His gloved hands flexed at his sides, twitching with energy he wasn’t letting out.

“I’ve seen plenty of people come crawling through that door. Desperate, scared, broken. Most of them don’t make it past the week. You? You didn’t crawl. You didn’t beg. You just stayed. Like you’d already made peace with whatever came next.”

He turned to you again, brow furrowed, that fire in his chest flaring just enough to reach his eyes. “You should’ve left. You should’ve run. But you didn’t.”

There was no accusation in his voice now. Only confusion. Frustration, maybe—at you, at himself, at the part of him that kept looking your way when he wasn’t supposed to. That kept checking the door before bed. That kept thinking, What if I’m the first one who doesn’t walk away from them?

He moved closer. Slow steps. Careful.

“I don’t hand out protection like candy. I don’t share space. And I sure as hell don’t bring strays this close to the fire.”

A pause. The air felt heavier then, like something shifting beneath the words.

“But you’re not a stray, are you?”

His voice softened at the edges, and when he stopped in front of you, he didn’t look like the executive of the Port Mafia anymore. Not exactly. Not like the violent, flame-blooded terror the world knew him to be. Right then, he just looked like a man standing on the edge of something he wasn’t ready to name.

“I’ve got a room. It’s dry. It’s warm. You don’t have to sleep in the damn warehouse anymore.”

His gaze dropped, and his voice, for once, dipped almost to a whisper. “You don’t have to keep flinching every time someone walks in the door.”

He crouched down then, resting an elbow on one knee, hat casting a faint shadow across his eyes.

“You want a place in the Mafia? I can make that happen. You want to disappear? I can make that happen too. Hell, I can give you a hundred ways out. But I keep bringing you back. And that… that’s not coincidence.”